Breath and Bones
by marinawings
Summary: The Winchester boys are investigating an old mine when things get chaotic. Dean, despite being injured, sticks to his mantra: look after Sammy... Set late in Season One.
1. Separation Anxiety

My first Supernatural story! It's set sometime late in Season One. Naturally and unfortunately, I don't own the show or the Winchester boys.

Special thanks to amyblair, who has given me some great advice and is an excellent writer herself. Thanks, Amy! :)

So here goes! Let me know what you think!

_Chapter One_

It's never a good thing when it hurts to breathe.

It's also not so good when you're awake enough, aware enough to realize this. And it still hurts to breathe.

And it's never, ever good when you're trapped in the dark, possibly alone, and oh yeah, it hurts to breathe.

Dean Winchester managed a passably deep breath, winced, groaned, and tried to sit up. For a few seconds, he was convinced he had gone blind or something, but his eyes started to adjust to the dark, and he could soon make out the shape of his hand in front of him. His hand… and nothing else. _No one _else.

Panic slammed through Dean's body along with the pain. _Sam!_

"Sammy?" Dean called hoarsely, fighting to ignore the nasty tugging in his chest and the metallic taste in his mouth. "Sam! Where are you?"

His voice bounced back off the walls of the cave, ringing in his ears.

Panting, one hand pressed to the sharpest point of pain in his body--his lower ribs on the right side, Dean stood. Once he was on his feet, the pain exploded through him. He barely managed to stumble to a wall and catch himself before toppling over. Leaning against the cool wall of the cave, he fought to draw oxygen into his lungs. Another attack of panic clawed at his psyche when the air wouldn't come. It just _wouldn't. _

_Oh crap… I'm going to die… _

_No, no, no! Not yet! Have to find Sam!_

With a mighty effort, Dean dragged an agonizing breath of air into his body and hollered with everything he had left, "Sam!!!!!"

Still no answer.

Dean felt an involuntary sob jolt through his body. Not Sam. Surely the creature hadn't taken Sam…

Pain--inward and outward--doubled him over, and he stood gasping, bent in two, clutching at his fiercely aching ribs. He clenched his teeth, worked his jaw, balled his fists, and _willed _himself back upright, _willed _himself to start walking. He had to find Sam.

Dean's shuffling feet kicked something metallic across the cave floor, and he swore. Then he remembered--his gun!

Dean squinted through the dark until his green eyes caught a glimpse of a dull glint. He followed the dim light, reaching toward it, nearly collapsing with relief when his fingers brushed the cold metal of his gun handle. Trying to keep his breathing even, he slid the gun into his jacket and continued his unsteady walk through the cave, trying desperately to remember what had happened.

A cold draft of air struck his face, awakening him, stirring his memory.

…_claws. Teeth. Creature. Glowing eyes. It was coming toward him. He was reloading his gun. And that thing was coming at him way too fast. _

_BAM!_

_The creature jerked, spun--spun on Sam, who had shot it, Sam, who had saved his brother's life, Sam, who was standing in front of two very terrified innocent people._

"_No!" Dean shouted. "Get them out of here, Sammy!"_

"_Not without you!" Sam called in reply, firing at the creature again. The thing staggered, went down on one knee._

_By this time, Dean had successfully reloaded his gun. He fired at the creature, and it turned on him--just like he wanted it to do. "Sam--GET THEM OUT OF HERE!" He put all the authority he could muster into his voice, channeled every bit of John Winchester he could marshal._

_Then, suddenly, something happened--something completely and totally unexpected. _

_An explosion from somewhere, a flash of light, Sam calling his name, everything shaking--_

_Then something slamming into him, sharp pain in his side, lack of oxygen, blackness…_

Dean gasped at the memory. Something big had went down in the tunnels. Probably something bad. Sam could be in danger!

He had to hurry.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, quickening his pace. Heck, he didn't even know if he was headed in the right direction. But, by God, he was going to keep going until he found his brother--or died trying. He could do no less.

It didn't take long for the faster pace to wind him. Pain bloomed afresh in his side, coupled with a nasty, coppery taste in his mouth. Coughing, Dean bent over, struggling for air, struggling to stay on his feet… He was failing… He was failing Sam…

"Dean!"

Dean's head snapped up, and he ruthlessly swallowed down a cough.

"Dean!"

The call came again, faint, but clear.

He was headed in the right direction.

"I'm coming, Sammy!" Dean cried, leaning heavily against the cave wall and staggering forward and a pace that surprised even himself. Adrenaline surged through him. Determination to find his little brother fueled his strength.

"Dean, what happened?" came Sam's voice, quizzical, anxious, but strong and alive.

"I don't--I don't know," Dean managed in reply. "The--the creature… Did we get it?"

"It's dead, Dean."

"And the people? That Evan kid and that hot Ashley chick?"

"They're okay. They're out."

Relief flooded Dean's soul. He stopped walking, leaned against the wall of the cave, closed his eyes. _We did it… We did it… Ugly bastard's dead… Innocent people are alive… Sammy's alive… He came back for me… That's nice… _It felt so good to have his eyes closed, to be leaning on something cool and strong…

"Dean, where are you?"

"Right--I'm right here, Sammy," Dean muttered. He forced his eyes opened, shook himself. Ouch. _That _hurt.

And suddenly, there was Sam, his long, lanky frame silhouetted by some distant light.

Dean grinned. "Sammy!"

"Dean!" Sam rushed toward him.

"Sam, are you--are you okay?" Dean asked quickly, hoping to God that Sam was alright. If anything happened to that kid--

"I'm fine, Dean," said Sam, reaching his brother. "I got out of the way when--" Uh-oh. Sam's voice was changing, lowering. Never a good thing. "Dean, you're hurt."

"You sure you're okay, Sam?" Dean asked, trying to sound firm. His voice wasn't cooperating. The painful lack of oxygen in his lungs probably had something to do with that.

"Dean, I'm _fine_."

Dean smiled again. Sam sounded so agitated. If only it wasn't so dark… But it was funny anyway. Dean knew his brother well enough to imagine the look on his face.

"_You_, on the other hand--"

"'M fine, too," Dean managed. He patted the wall next to his head. "Just--just testing the strength of the walls down here. They're, uh, they're good and strong."

"Dean--"

"I'm _fine_, Sammy," Dean grunted, pushing himself away from the wall. Wow. That felt weird. And not too nice. He tried--and failed--to hold back a soft groan at the sharp pain seizing his ribcage. "Just as long--just as long as you're… okay…" Dean frowned, winced, sucked in a sharp, painful breath of air.

"Dean--"

"I'm okay," said Dean breathlessly. His knees gave out then, and he pitched forward.

Sammy caught him, of course, with those big, long arms.

"Dean!"

The panic in Sam's voice almost made Dean smile. _Almost. _Pain, dizziness, lack of breathing--these things combined to make it hard to smile.

"Let's just… get out of here," Dean panted, bracing himself on his brother's arm and finding his feet again.

"Where are you hurt?" Sam asked, brotherly concern lacing his voice.

"We can discuss that later, Dr. Quinn," said Dean shortly, annoyed at being coddled. "Let's just get the--" His words were cut short by an embarrassing whimper as pain blasted through his body.

"Dean!"

Everything was suddenly foggy, painful, weird, and totally devoid of oxygen. "Tell that Ashley chick that she really looks good in hiking boots," said Dean.

"Oh my gosh, Dean…" Sam gently eased his brother to the cool stone floor of the cave. "Can you breathe?"

"Heh. No." Dean squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth to keep from saying anything else stupid--or making any more telling sounds of pain.

"What happened?" Sam asked, leaning his brother against the wall and reaching behind him for his pack.

"You tell me," Dean wheezed. He was suddenly, annoyingly scared. His body didn't feel right--especially his ribs and his lungs. Not good. "What _was _that back there?"

"I don't know, Dean," said Sam quietly. "But if you hadn't shot that creature when you did…" His voice trailed off, and Dean could hear him rummaging through the pack. He hoped Sam would pull out a flashlight. The darkness was getting annoying…

And he was fading…

Oh, heck no.

"Sammy," Dean bit out. The pain and weakness and not-breathing-ness were washing over him. He was drowning. "_Sammy_," he repeated more loudly.

"What is it?" asked Sam, turning to him, touching his shoulder.

"Don't--don't let me go," Dean told his brother intensely, clutching the front of Sam's shirt with one final burst of strength.

"Dean!" he heard Sam cry.

Then he was out--like the light Sam had failed to produce.

* * *

Panic.

It raced through Sam Winchester's mind and made his body a bundle of jittery nerves. "Dean!" he shouted, gently shaking his brother's shoulder. The panic increased when Dean's head lolled forward. "No, Dean! Don't do this!" Sam softly tapped the side of his brother's face.

Dean didn't respond. Unless, of course, one could count the ragged, shallow breathing noises.

Busted ribs, Sam diagnosed. And possibly a punctured lung. Or two. _Oh, God…Please not two…_

Sam knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had to get Dean out of there--and into a hospital or somewhere equally safe and helpful. Especially if weird things kept happening in this cave.

Gathering his wits, Sam shouldered his pack and slid his arms under his brother--one behind Dean's shoulders and one under his knees. Muscles tensing with the effort, Sam stood, lifting his older, smaller brother in his arms. Dean moaned, his head lolling against Sam's shoulder. Sam felt his stomach clench. Dean wasn't supposed to be weak. Dean was supposed to be the strong one. _Dean _was supposed to carry _him. _

"It's alright, man," Sam told his brother soothingly, not even sure that Dean could hear him. "I'm gonna get you out of here."

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean murmured hoarsely, perhaps feverishly.

Sam bit his lip--hard. It took every effort to keep from sobbing right then and there. Here was Dean--battered and broken--and he kept constantly asking if Sam was okay. It was typical, Sam thought. And scary.

"Shut up, Dean," Sam told his brother wryly. "Save your strength."

Dean didn't respond. Sam thought maybe he had passed out again. Maybe he hadn't even awakened at all.

Peering through the darkness, Sam headed toward the light, cursing himself mentally for giving both flashlights to Evan and Ashley. There was a sinister, cold feel to the dark, and it made Sam think about the strange explosion--or whatever it was--that had occurred in the tunnels. It had come as a complete surprise. And Sam still didn't know what had caused it.

All he knew was: the creature was dead, the civilians were saved, and Dean was badly injured and needed him.

Suddenly, there was an echo from behind him, causing Sam to stop in his tracks.

Another echo, this time clearly the echo of a footstep.

Sam tightened his grip on his brother, preparing to take off running full tilt if need be.

Dean stirred in his arms. "Sammy?"

"Dean, it's behind us," Sam said. He could _feel_ a threat lurking in the dark. That didn't feel very good…

"Put me down," Dean muttered restlessly.

"Dean--"

"Sam, I _said _put me down," Dean insisted through clenched teeth.

Also with clenched teeth, Sam set Dean gently down on his feet, keeping an arm around him to steady him.

Dean swayed, and for a second, Sam thought he might have to throw his older brother over his shoulder and take off running, but Dean managed to find his balance, tossing Sam a grin that was barely visible in the dark--yet clearly cocky. "See? I'm getting better already?" he panted.

"Sure, Dean. You're magic," Sam retorted dryly.

Another footstep echoed through the tunnel.

"Weapons?" Dean rasped.

"I've got a knife in my belt. My gun's in my pack."

"Heh." Dean drew his pistol from his jacket. Sam could see even in the dim light that the elder Winchester's hands were shaking, and he could hear very clearly that Dean's breath was labored and painful.

"Dean, maybe you should sit this one out," Sam suggested.

"Not on your life, Sammy." Dean cocked his gun, looked Sam straight in the eyes.

Sam got it, then. To Dean, this _was _about Sam's life--it was about protecting it. It always was. "Dean--"

Dean turned and faced the darkness of the cave behind Sam. "Whatever this thing is, bullets might not take it down," he practically choked out. "You saw what it did in the tunnels back there--"

"Yeah, and we didn't see _it_," said Sam, turning to face the same direction as his brother. "We don't know what we're up against, Dean."

"I know," said Dean. He swayed again, free hand going to his right side and pressing there.

"Dean?" Sam placed a hand on his brother's shoulder.

Dean jerked away from his touch. "'M fine, Sammy."

"Dean, maybe we should--"

"Run?" asked Dean. He paused to cough into the crook of his arm. Sam didn't like the sound of the cough. It was wet and heavy and oxygen starved. It had to hurt. It hurt to hear it. "I can't run, Sam," Dean continued finally, breathlessly. "Maybe you should go without me, go get help."

Sam rolled his eyes. Not _this_ again. "I'm not leaving you, Dean."

That was when a maniacal laugh rang through the cave, causing both brothers to jump.

Dean aimed his pistol toward the darkness. "What the--?"

"The Winchester boys," came a loud and clear voice. "How very nice to see you!"


	2. Trapped

Thanks so much to all of you who reviewed and to those of you who added this story to favorites/alerts lists. Much Supernatural love to all! And especially, once again, to amyblair.

_Chapter Two_

The fact that the voice sounded human was bad enough.

The fact that the smell of sulfur was wafting through the cave was even worse.

Dean swore. They hadn't been counting on demons. Not this time.

Someone snapped their fingers, and a light came on overhead, one of the old mining lanterns. Dean blinked, eyes stunned momentarily by the brightness, then he grimaced at the sight before him. A tall, thin middle aged man was facing him and Sammy. A man with eyes that were black and shiny like tar.

"Holy water, Sam?" Dean whispered quickly to his brother.

Sam nodded every so slightly. "In my pack."

Dean edged a bit closer to his brother.

The demon-man held up a hand. "I don't think so, Dean. Move away from your brother."

Frustration and anger welled up in Dean, emerging in the form of a muttered curse. Glaring at his enemy, he took one slight step away from Sam.

The demon smiled. "That's it. Thank-you, Dean."

"What do you want from us?" Dean retorted harshly, biting out the words. His side was burning and aching, and it hurt worse with each breath. Talking hurt, too.

"You seem to be in pain, Dean Winchester," said the man, taking a step forward. "I can help you with that." He grinned suddenly, coldly.

"You're not touching him!" Sam shouted, flinging out an arm in front of Dean.

"Easy, Sam," Dean murmured, trying to pull Sam's arm down.

Sam wasn't budging.

"Who said I had to touch him?" asked the demon, cocking his head to one side, the cruel smile plastered to his face. He slowly started to raise his arm.

Dean blinked, swallowed. _This is it. We're finished…_

Then, abruptly, the demon smiled and lowered his arm. "On second thought, I think I'll reconsider relieving you of your suffering, Dean. After all, prisoners can be more valuable than corpses."

Dean felt confidence seep back into his aching bones. "More dangerous, too," he muttered to Sam.

A brief smile crossed Sam's features before the younger Winchester brother called to the demon, "How do you know us?"

"Sam, I would have thought your father would have taught you how powerful we are," said the demon, walking closer and smiling arrogantly. "Some of us can read minds." He stopped walking and clasped his hands in front of him, peering at the Winchesters shrewdly. "But you know that, don't you? What are you doing, Sammy? Stalling for time?"

Sam opened his mouth as if in answer, then frowned and quickly shut it.

"So you know who _we_ are. How 'bout telling us who _you _are?" Dean demanded, ignoring Sam's sharp glance.

"You can call me Lysander," the demon said with a cordial nod. His eyes narrowed on Dean. "I have some friends who are looking for you."

An unpleasant chill ran up Dean's spine.

"And no, I'm not a mind reader," said Lysander casually, looking at his fingernails. He looked back at the Winchesters and grinned broadly, revealing a set of brilliantly white and even teeth. "I've just heard all about you from my friends." He tilted his head to one side. "And that's why I'm keeping you alive."

Dean didn't like the sound of that. He also didn't like the sound of the word "friends" coming out of a demon's mouth…

"Though it seems, Dean, that you're going to make things a bit hard for me," Lysander continued, taking a few steps closer to the Winchesters. "Always getting into trouble, aren't you? Well, I hope you survive until my friends arrive."

"Dean is going to be _fine_," Sam bit out at the demon, moving protectively closer to Dean.

Dean tossed Sam a look of pleasant surprise… which quickly turned to a wince and a frown as Dean reflected on how relative the word "fine" was when used by a Winchester… He'd used it in plenty of lies himself--in untruths both intentional and unintentional.

"Why don't both of you boys come with me?" Lysander suggested amiably, motioning behind him. "I know of a nice little room here in the cave where the two of you can wait."

"Wait for what? Our imminent doom?" Dean snapped, holding his right hand tightly against his side. "No thank-you. We don't trust your kind."

For a moment, Lysander seemed ruffled, his eyes narrowing on the elder Winchester. This gave Dean a burst of satisfaction. But the satisfaction didn't last for very long. The smug smile returned to the demon man's face. "We don't trust yours either, hunter. Which is why I want you to go where I tell you to go."

"And if we don't?" Dean demanded.

Lysander sighed heavily, theatrically. "I really don't want to have to waste you."

"Aren't you a sweetheart of a thug?" Dean replied. He planned to add a few more choice words, but his oxygen supply was suddenly cut short by a hacking cough… which also happened to be very painful. He quickly turned from Sam and buried his face in the crook of his arm as his body convulsed with the cough. He didn't want Sam to see or hear anything that might cause the younger Winchester to worry too much. _Don't look at me with those concerned eyes, Sammy. Just don't… _

Dean glanced over his shoulder at Sam. Sam was indeed wearing the concerned eyes.

"What?" Dean choked out roughly.

Sam just shook his head, but the concerned eyes remained.

"So?" Dean sniffed, cleared his throat, managed not to groan when pain pinched violently at his side. "We gonna follow this bastard or what?"

* * *

Sam looked at Dean, looked at him long and hard in the yellowish light of the mining lantern overhead. Dean's face was pale, his eyes over-bright. And he kept pressing his hand to his right side. He was hurt, and Sam knew it.

Dean tossed Sam an annoyed frown, and Sam quickly looked away. "Uh, Dean, I don't know that we have any other option," he told his older brother ruefully.

"Crap," Dean muttered gruffly. "I was afraid of that."

"So, boys? Made up your minds yet?" Lysander called, his smooth, smarmy voice echoing through the cave and bouncing around inside Sam's head. As if Sam needed anything else bouncing around in there.

"We're coming with you," Dean replied. "Just hang on a second." He looked back to Sam. "We've gotta think of something. And fast."

"I know. I know," Sam muttered, frowning. He glanced sharply at Dean. "For one thing, we've got to do something about your injuries. What happened to you anyway?"

"Save it. I'm fine." Dean patted Sam's shoulder and started walking toward Lysander. "We'll patch up the ol' bones later, Sammy. Right now we need to be thinking about how to get out of this."

Sam took a deep, tight breath, then started after Dean. He made sure to walk a little behind his brother, just in case Dean's knees decided to buckle anytime soon. Sam wanted fair warning of that. Sometimes his brother's stubbornness was almost too much to bear--especially when that stubbornness put Dean in danger. Sam had a feeling that one day, said hard-headedness would get Dean into a load of trouble, as if it hadn't already…

"Right this way, gentlemen." Lysander started walking, actually having the nerve to turn his back on the Winchesters.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances, then looked to Sam's pack in unison.

"He _knows_ we have weapons in my pack, Dean," Sam whispered.

"I know," Dean muttered with a frustrated frown. "But maybe we can--"

"Here we are," Lysander said, suddenly halting his stride.

Sam blinked, surprised that the walk had been so short.

Lysander stepped aside to reveal a narrow opening in the cave wall. "Step inside, if you please."

"If you please," Dean mocked, with a disgusted look on his face. He peered around the demon, then turned to look at Sam with wide eyes. "It's really tight in there."

"Hunters can't be choosers, Dean," said Lysander casually.

Dean raised an eyebrow, but surprisingly made no comeback. Sam took that as an ominous sign of his brother's condition.

The demon's eyes suddenly locked on Sam. Sam swallowed hard, fingers curling tightly around the straps of his pack. "Sam, hand over the bag," Lysander ordered.

_Crap. _"There are medical supplies in here," Sam said, trying to stay calm. "If you want me to keep Dean alive--"

"Do you think I'm _stupid_?" the demon snarled, taking a threatening step toward Sam.

"Easy, man… uh, monster." Dean stepped between Lysander and Sam, raising his hands. "Sam's gonna hand over the bag--except for the medical supplies. Isn't that right, Sammy?" Dean turned and caught Sam's eye. There was something in his expression that reassured Sam… probably the cockiness that was disproportionate to the situation.

"Okay. Okay. Here." Sam slid the pack off of his shoulders and started to reach inside it for the medical kit.

"I'll do that," Lysander snapped, suddenly raising his arm.

Sam went flying backward into the cave wall, a rough outcropping jamming into his back right between his shoulder blades. He tried to bite back a cry of pain and shock, but a muffled groan managed to escape his lips… which did exactly what he was trying to avoid.

It infuriated Dean.

Dean swore and took a menacing step toward the demon, fists balled. "Let him go, you ugly--"

Lysander grinned and lifted a hand toward Dean. Dean went sliding sideways, slamming into the cave wall on his right side, his pistol clattering loudly to the cave floor. It scared Sam--badly--when Dean gave a sharp cry of pain. Dean wasn't one to complain.

Keeping the Winchesters pinned to opposite walls, Lysander walked to where Sam's pack sat, then started rummaging through it. Gingerly, the demon removed a flask of holy water, tossing it across the cave. He also proceeded to relieve the pack of knives, guns, books of incantations, and various other objects that were potentially dangerous to creatures of darkness.

Finally, Lysander stood, grasping the bag by its straps. "Here." He tossed it at Sam's feet, released the brothers from the walls, then nodded toward Dean. "Keep him alive, Sam."

Sam quickly snatched up the pack and looked to Dean. "Dean?"

Dean was leaning heavily against the wall, both hands clutching his right side, jaw clenched. "You okay, Sammy?" he managed, his voice breathless and tight with pain.

Of course Dean would ask that. Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm fine, Dean."

"Get in there _now_," Lysander ordered, pointing jerkily to the opening in the cave wall. All pretense of politeness was gone, leaving behind one very sadistic and highly ticked off demon.

Sam decided to follow orders before anyone (Dean) got hurt again. "Alright. Alright." He made his way swiftly to Dean's side, wincing a bit. His back was probably sporting a nasty bruise by now. "Dean, can you walk?"

"_Yes_, I can walk," Dean replied sharply, not meeting Sam's eyes. He led the way into the tiny cave room, shooting a fierce glare at Lysander as he went.

Sam followed his brother into the room, not even looking at the demon, for fear of what that might ignite inside him… such as maybe primal rage.

… and Dean was right. This room was _minuscule._ One of Sam's shoulders brushed against Dean's. The other scraped against the rock wall.

"Stay right here, boys," Lysander ordered with a smirk.

"Well _you'd_ better stay out_ there_," Dean growled in response. "Might be safer for you, you black-eyed bastard."

Lysander laughed coldly. "Oh really? Well to be frank, I'm not intimidated, Dean Winchester--nor am I impressed. I'm a bit disappointed in the two of you. My friends must be prone to exaggeration." Before either brother could reply, the demon snapped his fingers.

A loud scraping sound echoed through the caves, bouncing off the walls of the tiny room--and twisting Sam's stomach into knots.

"Oh no," Sam muttered wearily.

His fears were confirmed as a huge panel of rock slid into place, covering the only opening in the little stone room.

They were trapped.


	3. Medical Kits Rock

Hello again! Another chapter! Special thanks, as always, to the awesomeness that is amyblair. And I really appreciate any and all reviews. I also appreciate those of you who are quietly keeping up with this story. You don't have to be shy, though. You can let me know what you think! :)

_Chapter Three_

So not breathing--definitely not good.

Nasty, smart-mouthed demons--even worse.

Being trapped in a dark little room, having trouble breathing, _and_ being guarded by a demon? Almost hopeless.

Almost.

"Sam," Dean rasped. "Open up the medical kit."

"I'm trying, Dean. I'm trying," Sam replied, his voice laced with panic and irritation.

"There's a clasp right under the antiseptic on the left side," Dean panted, sinking down against the wall, his body tensing against the pain. "Open it up." He heard the click as Sam obeyed. "See that?"

"See what, Dean?" Sam shot back. "It's pitch black in here."

"Heh. Too bad Vin Diesel's not here to save us, huh?" Dean joked with a lopsided grin.

"Dean, what the heck is this?" came Sam's voice through the darkness. Dean could hear him shaking something around, something that made a swishing sound.

"It's holy water, Sam," Dean replied. A sharp pain ripped up his side and through his lungs, and he curled his fingers tightly around his knees, fighting to keep from whimpering. "And there's a silver knife in there somewhere, plus a lock pick, a couple packs of salt, and a lighter."

"You hid weapons in the medical kit?" Sam asked, amusement and incredulity mixed in his voice.

"Actually, it was Dad's idea," Dean told him, grinning slightly. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"Definitely," said Sam. His teeth flashed white in the dark. "This means we can get out!"

"Yep." Dean held his breath--not like there was much of it--and shifted his position, bumping up against Sam's leg. When he finally allowed himself to breathe again, his breath hitched in his chest, and an ominous coppery taste filled his mouth. _Crap. _"Maybe--maybe we should relax for a little bit before we try anything, eh, Sammy?"

"Oh, God, Dean. I'm sorry." Sam was instantly kneeling beside him, rummaging through the medical kit. "I forgot how bad you're hurt."

"How 'bout you, Sammy? Looked like you got slammed against the wall pretty hard back there." The thought of Sam being hurt, of _anything _bad happening to Sam, sent a pulse of panic through Dean's body.

"I'm alright, Dean," Sam said quietly, calmly. "Might have a bruise or two." There was a clicking sound, and light flared suddenly in the small space, illuminating Sam's face, reflecting in his worried eyes. "But I'm not hurt like you."

Dean gritted his teeth, struggled to find some smart answer, some excuse. Nothing was coming. "Okay, so maybe I'm banged up a bit."

"A bit?" Sam's eyebrows raised.

Dean narrowed his eyes on his brother's smug face. "Sam, I'm helping you take down this demon. I feel good enough to do that. So don't give me any crap about me staying here or waiting this one out or anything like that."

Sam looked for a moment as if he would argue.

It was an inconvenient moment for pain. But Dean was beginning to learn that pain was a sadistic psycho with no concern for convenience. Pain clawed at his ribs, and it was too much to ignore. He quickly turned his face away from Sam (probably not quickly enough) and tried to muffle his groan.

Sam's sternness quickly melted away, replaced by brotherly concern. "Dean, where does it hurt?"

"My side. My freakin' side," Dean gasped out. "Right side."

"We're gonna have to move," Sam said with a weary sigh. "I can't reach your right side from over here."

Dean managed a short, breathless laugh. "Not even with _those_ long arms?"

Sam ignored the jibe. "Scoot over this way, Dean, and I'll step over you."

"Great. I have to move again," Dean muttered, wincing and scooting to his left as Sam stepped over his legs.

"I thought you said you felt well enough to fight demons," Sam retorted, settling down at Dean's right.

"I'm thinkin' adrenaline will help me with that one," Dean explained matter-of-factly. "Ugh." He leaned his head back against the cool stone wall, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt Sam pull back the edge of his jacket and start to lift up his shirt. "Dude, your hands are freakin' cold."

"Sorry." Sam's apology was cut short by a sharp intake of breath. "Dean… This is bad, man."

"'S been worse," Dean muttered, flinching as Sam's hand came in contact with his side. Curiosity overcame him, and he glanced down at his side in the flickering glow of the lighter. _Oh… crap… _His ribcage was splashed with angry blue and purple bruises and more than a few cuts and scrapes. Not a pretty sight. It looked almost as bad as it felt. But Dean decided to play casual. _No need to worry Sammy. _

"Patch me up, Sammy," Dean said, leaning his head back against the wall. "And while you're at it, tell Scotty to _beam_ me up."

"That _would _be nice, Dean," Sam remarked dryly. "Too bad transporter rooms haven't been invented yet. Here. Hold this." He passed off the lighter to Dean while he searched through the medical kit. "Dean, how's your breathing?"

Dean frowned. "Fine," he said gruffly.

"Fine?" Sam looked at him with one eyebrow raised. "Sounds awful."

"Alright, so I feel like crap. Just patch me up and let's get outta here," Dean ordered.

Sam sighed, but obeyed, taking the lighter back from Dean. "This might be kinda cold, so just… chill, okay?"

"Haha. Very funny," Dean muttered dryly. But he was smiling. _Good ol' Sammy._

"Just breathe easy, Dean," Sam told him soothingly, wiping something cold against his side.

It stung a bit, and Dean's breath hissed through his teeth. Everything was going all foggy again. _Don't pass out. Don't pass out. Don't pass out. Sammy _needs _you. _

"Dean? Dean? Stay with me, man." Sam's hand was on his shoulder, gently shaking him.

"I'm fine. I'm fine, Sam." Dean gave Sam a tired smile. "See?" That was when he started coughing again. And couldn't stop. And also couldn't breathe.

"Dean!" Sam shouted. "Breathe, Dean!"

Dean gave his brother an "I'm trying, but I can't, so don't yell at me" look as he fought for air… air that wasn't coming. It didn't help that the coughing spasms and gasps were tugging at his side, pulling at his damaged ribs. That hurt. A lot. _Oh God… _Doubling over, he pressed both hands to his side, feeling as if he might be holding them in place. If one of them shifted--

Suddenly, the ground beneath the Winchesters started to shake--violently.

"What--what's happening?" Dean gasped, miraculously managing to suck in some oxygen. He reached out and grabbed hold of Sam's sleeve, fingers tightening convulsively around the fabric.

"I don't know!" Sam cried in reply, gripping Dean's shoulder.

Then, the flame of the lighter went out, and the shuddering of the ground ceased.

"Sam?" Dean coughed out.

Click. Click.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, jerking on his brother's sleeve.

"I can't--I can't get it to light, Dean," Sam replied, his voice shaky. "It's not out of fluid. I swear, it's not--" Sam's voice trailed off.

"Sam?" Dean managed to sit up a bit straighter, ignoring the ache in his side.

"Dean, do you feel that?" Sam responded breathlessly.

"Feel what?" asked Dean hoarsely, frowning and trying to peer through the dark.

"It's gotten… colder in here," Sam practically whispered.

And he was right. Dean shivered involuntarily. The tiny cave room was getting chilly… _Oh heck no… _"Sam, do you think there's a _ghost _in here?"

"I think so, Dean," said Sam quietly, never loosening his grip on his older brother's shoulder.

"Huh." Dean blinked, shook his head. "So… We just killed a monster in the tunnels. We've got a demon standing guard. And now… There's a _ghost _in here?"

"Looks like," said Sam.

"Crap," Dean muttered.

"Ditto," Sam replied.

"That's not funny," Dean said with a frown.

"What's not?" Sam asked, confusion in his voice.

"You know… The movie _Ghost. _Ditto."

"Oh yeah." There was a trace of a smile in Sam's voice. "Ditto."

Dean reached into the medical kit and fished around until his fingers brushed paper--a packet of salt. "Come on out, Casper. We're ready for ya," he muttered around the metallic taste in his mouth. He was pretty sure that his last round of coughing had brought up blood. Either something inside him was torn up or his body was just freaking out. _Please just be freaking out…_

Silence and darkness met Dean's challenge.

Click.

A flame burst into life. The lighter.

Dean and Sam exchanged wide-eyed glances.

"What the crap is going on here?" Dean wondered aloud.

"I don't know," said Sam slowly, "But I think it's time we planned our escape."

* * *

"Come on, Dean." Sam gently slid his shoulder under his brother's arm. "On three. One. Two. Three!" With a grunt, Sam stood, lifting Dean with him, Dean whose face was twisted with pain and whose breath was gasping and ragged.

"You okay, man?" Sam asked as he leaned Dean against the wall.

Dean nodded tightly. "Fine." He waved the lighter toward the sealed off entrance to the cave room. "How're we gonna get that thing opened?"

Sam stood akimbo and looked thoughtfully at the slab of rock. The first thought that came to his mind shocked him. It was such a Dean and/or John Winchester thought. _Blow it up. _He laughed a bit at the impossible plan. Blowing up the rock door would kill him and his brother.

"What's so funny?" Dean panted.

Sam turned to look at him, trying not to think of how pale Dean looked, how heavily he was leaning against the wall. "I was just thinking, and…" Sam ran a hand through his thick dark hair, smiling sheepishly. "I kinda found myself thinking like you and Dad."

"Thinking 'bout blowing up that door, Sammy?" Dean asked with a grin.

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"Heh." Dean's smile softened a bit. "That plan's a bit… suicidal, don't you think?"

"Just a bit," said Sam. "Problem is, I can't think of anything else to do."

"Believe in yourself, Sam," said Dean with a lopsided grin.

"And that's totally going to open this door," Sam replied wryly. He couldn't help but smile a bit himself. Leave it to Dean to find something funny about being trapped in a tiny cave room by a demon… Wait… The demon…

"Sam, you got something?" Dean's voice broke through Sam's reverie.

"Dean, I think I've got a plan," Sam said, excitement rising within him. "And I think you're going to like it."

Dean blinked. "O…kay…"

"It's straight out of the movies," said Sam eagerly. He tossed his brother a grin, then turned and faced the door of the cave room. "Hey! Lysander! Get in here!"

"What are you doing?" Dean hissed.

"Play hurt, Dean," Sam told him quickly.

"Won't take much," said Dean with a grimace. Then, suddenly, he grinned. "I get it. I get it. This is gonna be good." He slid down to the floor, leaning against the wall of the cave, then reached out and closed his fist around the vial of holy water.

"What's the matter?" came Lysander's voice from the other side of the stone slab.

"It's Dean!" Sam called. "He's getting worse!" Smiling at his brother, Sam bent to pick up the salt packets from the medical kit. Elation thrilled him when he also found a folded up piece of paper tucked among the hunters' tools--an exorcism.

"I told you to keep him alive!" Lysander shouted, his voice ringing off the walls of the little room.

"He needs a doctor!" Sam yelled in reply. Which was the truth. He glanced quickly at Dean. His older brother was quietly slumped against the cave wall. Sam wondered how much was an act and how much was him really being hurt…

"Stand back," came Lysander's growl from the other side of the rock.

Sam stepped back, nearly tripping over Dean's feet. "Dean, cover up those hunting tools," he whispered quickly to his brother.

"Already done," Dean replied.

That didn't surprise Sam. Though he acted like it sometimes, Dean was no idiot. And he had to be one of the best hunters out there. Sam flashed his brother a quick smile and was relieved when Dean smiled back.

A sudden grating of stone on stone jerked Sam's attention back toward the door of the little room. Sam took a deep breath and steadied himself, praying frantically that this would all go well for him and Dean. Dean needed a doctor. Dean needed to be _out _of this place…

"So he's dying, is he?" came Lysander's haughty voice as the stone slab scraped away from the entrance to the room.

"Please," said Sam quickly, affecting deep fear. "You've got to do something."

Lysander glanced around Sam toward Dean. Curiously, Sam glanced over his shoulder at Dean as well. Dean was playing his part admirably, sprawled against the wall, eyes closed, his breathing heavy and labored.

Lysander swore and brushed around Sam, dropping lightly to his knees next to Dean. "Wake up, Winchester!" he snapped at the elder brother, smacking the side of Dean's face with his hand.

Sam winced. He hadn't counted on the demon doing something like that. He hoped Dean would keep his cool…

Lysander looked sharply to Sam. "I might just have to settle for keeping _one _of you alive," he carped. "Since you do such a pathetic job of looking after each other."

Sam noticed Dean's hand moving and knew that he had to keep Lysander's attention. "Yeah? Well I hope your 'friends' tear you apart for not keeping both of us alive," he taunted, his voice coming out louder than he had expected. He swallowed and took a step back when Lysander got to his feet and stepped toward him. But he knew he had to keep this up, had to give Dean time. "_You're _the one responsible for Dean's condition. Not me. _You _should--"

"Silence!" Lysander boomed, raising a threatening hand.

Sam nodded tightly.

"I should break your bones where you stand," Lysander bit out, glaring at the younger Winchester.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you."

The demon's eyes widened, and he spun on his heel.

Behind him stood Dean, grinning smugly and brandishing the vial of holy water. "Touch my brother, and I'm baptizing you."

"You--but you--" Lysander spluttered.

"So maybe I'm even tougher than I look," said Dean, his grin going lopsided. He narrowed his eyes on Lysander. "You disappoint me, Lyse."

Lysander glared at him, his entire body seething with anger. "You're not as clever as you think, hunter junior," he snarled. "Have you forgotten what I can do?" He raised his hand, eyes flickering toward the vial.

"Not so fast," said Sam, stepping toward the demon. He whipped the exorcism out of his pocket and unfolded it with a conspicuous crackling of paper.

Lysander spun on Sam, fear and anger mingled in his eyes. "What are you doing?"

Sam shrugged casually. "Well I was about to start exorcising you, but…" He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe if you'll show us the way out of here…"

Lysander worked his jaw, frowning, then suddenly, broke into a vividly white smile.

Sam frowned, his stomach clenching. What did the demon have to smile about? It couldn't be anything good for the Winchesters…

"You boys just don't get it, do you?" Lysander asked, looking from Sam to Dean, then back again.

"Don't get what?" Dean demanded hoarsely, raising the vial of holy water.

"How powerful we are," Lysander announced proudly. He clucked his tongue and shook his head. "In a way, I almost feel sorry for you, but…" He sighed theatrically. "Then again, I don't."

Dean looked at Sam, questions in his eyes. Sam tossed him an "I have no clue" look.

Lysander laughed, then, and the echo of his laugh rang off the cave walls, threatening to give Sam a headache. "Poor, pitiful human boys. Don't you get it?"

"Get what!?" Dean snapped impatiently, taking a step closer to the demon. He winced very slightly with the movement, but Sam caught it, and his throat tightened.

"I'm not your run-of-the-mill, black-eyed grunt," Lysander told him cheerfully. "I'm so much more. And now--" He slanted his head to the side, a beatific look on his rather ordinary, clean-cut features. "Now I'm not alone."

"Sam…" Dean's voice had a cautioning tone, laced with intense concern.

Sam glanced over his shoulder through the opening, peering into the dimly lit tunnel. "I don't see anyone else!" he reported quickly.

"He could be bluffing," said Dean, nodding toward Lysander.

"Or maybe he's not," Sam replied, eyes wide. The situation was getting out of hand. Dean was hurt and trying to hide it, and this demon was proving to be more trouble than Sam had thought. And oh yeah, there might be more where it came from.

"What are you going to do, Sammy boy?" asked Lysander venomously. "No pressure."

Sam looked down at the exorcism in his hands, looked at Dean, then glanced back into the tunnel. He had no idea what to do. A heavy thudding sound drew his attention back into the room. As soon as he turned, he saw Lysander slumped on the floor, with Dean standing over him, grinning.

"Dean, what did you do?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Put the George Foreman on him," Dean replied proudly.


	4. Things Get Twisted

As always, a big shout out to my reviewers! I appreciate your comments! I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. And to everyone else reading--thanks for taking the time to check out my story! And again, as always, special thanks to amyblair! :)

_Chapter Four_

"You put the _George Foreman _on him?" Sam asked, looking askance at Dean.

"Yeah," Dean rasped with what he hoped was a cool and confident grin. "You know, like the boxer--not the grill named after him. Although…" He laughed a bit. "The grill would come in handy. I'd like to fry this demon guy's butt like there's no tomorrow."

"Well let's get you out of this mine or there won't be," said Sam, stepping over the fallen Lysander and latching a hand onto Dean's arm.

"'M okay, man," Dean told him quickly. "I can walk." He nudged Lysander with one booted foot… which gave him a sense of satisfaction. "And shouldn't we maybe exorcise this guy before we leave?"

"Oh yeah. Right."

Dean stared at his brother, wide-eyed. It wasn't like Sam to forget something important like that. Sam's genius of a mind must be preoccupied… With _him_…

Dean sighed, just barely resisting rolling his eyes. "Exorcise the freak and let's get out of here, Sammy." He patted his brother's arm with what he hoped was a significant amount of strength, resolving to ignore the dizziness and the nagging pain in his ribs… the pain that seemed to increase with each breath. He had to be strong for Sam, had to keep himself from distracting Sam.

"Dean, are you sure--?"

"Just get it _done_, Sam," Dean ordered, leaning back against the wall. He watched and waited until Sam began reading the ritual, then leaned his head back against the cool stone wall of the cave and closed his eyes, concentrating on his breathing. The rhythmic cadence of Sam reading Latin was nearly enough to put Dean to sleep, but he fought unconsciousness. _There's no way I'm leaving Sam to do this alone… _

"Uh, Dean."

Uh-oh. That was _definitely _not Latin.

Dean's green eyes opened in a flash. The first thing he saw was Lysander's body rising up slightly off the ground, putting him instantly on the alert. "What's going on, Sammy?"

"I don't know." Sam's eyes were wide, his voice breathless with panic. "Maybe--maybe he's waking up."

Dean swore. Pressing a hand tightly to his side, he stepped forward, moving closer to the twitching body on the ground. He drew back his boot, prepared to kick the thing in the head.

"Wait!" Sam exclaimed.

"Why?" Dean retorted, making a face at his brother.

"I think--I think it's leaving him." Sam's eyes widened. Dean hadn't thought it possible for them to get any wider.

"Leaving him? For where?" Dean asked, cold dread settling in his already aching stomach.

"Well not hell." Sam swallowed hard. "I didn't--I didn't finish the exorcism."

Dean clenched his teeth in frustration and pain. He forced himself to swallow both down. This couldn't be good. He needed all his wits about him. "Well can't you finish it now?"

"I think--I think it's too late," Sam stammered, eyes wandering back to the body on the floor.

Lysander's body suddenly rose into a sitting position. The eyes were still closed, but the mouth opened wide. A furious shrieking sound bounced off the walls of the little room as a dark, roiling cloud of demonic smoke gushed out of the wide open mouth, blowing past the Winchesters and streaking out into the corridor of the cave. The earth shuddered once, violently, nearly knocking Dean off balance, then everything was still.

"I take it we lost him," Dean muttered, shaking his head.

Sam nodded weakly. "Yeah."

"Fantastic." Dean gritted his teeth, eyeing the collapsed man on the floor. "And this poor sucker?"

As if on cue, the man sat up, gasping and coughing.

Ignoring his own trouble breathing, Dean quickly knelt beside the poor man, while Sam knelt on the other side of him. "Hey, take it easy," Dean told the man, patting his shoulder.

"What--what's going on?" the man stammered, eyes practically bulging out of his head.

"Sir, you've been possessed by a demon," Sam explained quietly, calmly. "It's gone now. You're safe."

"Well tell me something I _don't _know!" the man snapped, rolling his eyes.

Sam and Dean exchanged surprised--and annoyed--glances.

"You _know_ you were possessed by a demon?" Dean asked, frowning.

"That's what I meant, Sundance," the man replied dryly. "By the gods, you pack a solid punch." Glaring at Dean, he rubbed his jaw, wincing, then shrugged. "The name's George--George Taggart. Now can someone show me how to get the heck out of this place?"

"You're welcome," Dean muttered, narrowing his eyes on George's face.

"For what?" asked George airily.

"We saved your butt, man," Dean replied hoarsely. "Did you wanna be demon possessed for the rest of your life or somethin'?"

"I was a willing victim, I assure you," George explained. Taking in the Winchester's looks of surprise, he smiled haughtily. "What? Never heard of demon worshippers before?"

"You're a sick freak, you know that?" Dean muttered a curse and stood, shaking his head. It sickened him what people were capable of sometimes.

"Look, George, that demon couldn't care less about you," Sam explained patiently. "He was _using _you. I'm sure you can see that now."

"I'm not the one who needs seeing lessons," George replied.

There was something cold in his voice that made Dean turn around.

And he was instantly glad that he did.

Sam was looking down, shaking his head. George was reaching into his jacket, a look of violent elation twisting the clean-cut features of his face.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted.

Sam's head snapped up at the sound of his brother's voice. His eyes fixed on George, then widened. Moving fast--and utilizing moves Dean recognized from their dad's playbook--Sam grabbed George's arm and flipped the man around, pinning his arm behind his back. A knife clattered to the ground.

"Were you going to _stab _me!?" Sam growled, standing and dragging his would-be assailant to his feet beside him.

"Well, duh! Ow! Ow! Easy, big guy!" George yelped.

Dean stepped forward and took the man's jaw in his hand, glaring at him. "You think you can get away with trying to stab my _brother_?" He gave the guy's face a shake. "I'll _kill _you, you--"

"Dean!" Sam cried, jerking his older brother's attention away from the snarling face of George. Sam nodded toward the opening of the tiny room.

Dean looked out into the corridor. And blinked… because he could barely believe what he was seeing.

A woman was standing in the tunnel, faintly illuminated by a glowing, bluish light. She was tall and fair, dressed in a pale green dress. Her eyes were fixed on Dean and filled with a strange and unexpected sympathy.

"Well look at that, Sammy," Dean muttered. "There _is _a ghost."

The air inside the cave was suddenly, bone-chillingly cold.

"I say we beat the crap outta this bastard, then salt the glowing lady. How 'bout it?" Dean proposed, trying to hide an involuntary shudder. The coldness in the air was doing nothing for his starving lungs. The shudder tore through his body with a sudden vengeance, forcing him to gasp for breath. He quickly turned his back on Sam and George, wrapping one arm around his throbbing ribs.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was laced with panic and concern.

"I'm fine, Sammy," Dean gasped out raggedly, nearly bent double by the pain and lack of air. Something inexplicable drew his eyes back toward the ghostly figure in the corridor.

She looked back at him with incredibly sad, incredibly beautiful eyes. "You're hurt," she whispered, the soft sound of her voice echoing gently off the stone walls.

Dean frowned, confused. What the heck was a freakin' _ghost _doing being worried for him? "I'll be fine," he told her reflexively. Then he blinked. And what the heck was he doing talking to her like that?

"Let me help you," she gently replied, reaching toward him with a pale, slender arm.

"Dean?" came Sam's bewildered and anxious voice.

"What the crap is going on here?" Dean hissed, managing to straighten somewhat.

"Don't--don't go to her," Sam advised him quickly.

"Wasn't thinkin' about it," Dean lied, fixing puzzled eyes on the lady in the doorway.

"They're coming," the ghost woman said suddenly, glancing behind her.

"Who's coming?" Dean asked, brows knitting.

George laughed condescendingly.

"Oh yeah. _Them_." Dean turned around and socked George in the jaw. The once demon-possessed man slumped in Sam's arms.

"Demons?" Sam asked, letting the punk slide to the ground unceremoniously.

"I'd assume so," Dean replied. An embarrassing groan escaped his lips as a sharp pain lanced suddenly through his side.

"Dean--"

Dean held up a hand. "Sammy, I'm--"

"Sammy?"

Both Winchesters turned to look at the ghost lady with wide eyes.

"Is your name Sammy?" she asked, tilting her head to one side in what Dean thought--oddly--was an endearing and attractive gesture.

"It's Sam," Sam replied casually, then quickly clapped a hand over his mouth. He glanced at Dean, shock and confusion written all over his face. "Dude are we talking to this ghost? Shouldn't we be…" He lowered his voice to a whisper. "… burning her bones or something?"

"What if she's trying to help us?" Dean whispered back, completely surprised at his own words.

Sam actually smiled a bit at that. "Wow. That would be… kinda cool."

"Sam."

The boys shared bemused looks, then turned to the glowing woman in the corridor.

"Uh… yeah?" Sam replied, wearing a look of amazement.

"You have to get Dean out of here," the woman told him urgently. "Dean is hurt. And they're coming."

"Who?" Sam asked. Dean instantly recognized his brother's patient, questioning tone of voice--Dr. Sam Winchester, your friendly neighborhood psychiatrist. "Who's coming?"

"The black-eyes," the ghost hissed, impatience springing into her expression. "They're the ones who put it here. They're the reason I died."

Whoa. This was getting weird. "You--you know you're dead?" Dean asked the lady.

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "They put it here, and it killed me."

"It? Oh! The creature--the monster," Sam replied quickly, realization brightening his eyes. "The one that we killed."

"Yes! Yes!" the ghost cried, clasping her hands together before her. "And I thank you for that, but…" She glanced over her shoulder again. "You have to hurry. They're after you."

"Wait, wait, wait. You're saying the _demons _put that _monster _here?" Dean asked, frowning.

"We don't have time for this, Dean!" the woman told him, stamping her glowing foot in annoyance. "You have to leave--now!"

"Well what if we don't trust you?" Dean purported. "Our experience with ghosts hasn't exactly made us friends with them."

The ghost lady narrowed her eyes on Dean's face, lips twitching. "Do you really want to die here?"

"Not particularly," Dean replied. "But in case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly a run and hide kinda guy. I like facing things head on. And if that includes you, then so be it."

The ghost woman rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Men! And here I thought I actually _missed _the stupid creatures!"

* * *

Sam Winchester couldn't think of a time when he had ever felt so utterly at a loss. He and Dean were lost in an abandoned mine, chatting with a beautiful woman who was glowing with a pale blue light, and waiting for an onslaught of demons. And the ghost was asking the brothers to trust her. _Trust_ her… a ghost… a spirit. This was definitely a puzzle. Well… Sam usually liked puzzles. It was time to solve this one.

"What's your name?" he asked the ghost gently.

She turned to him with something of a blank expression. "Beryl," she said quietly, glancing down at the ground. "My name is Beryl." She looked back up at the Winchesters, her eyes full of an unlikely hope. "No one has said my name in such a long time…"

"Beryl, we--we're hunters," Sam told her, opting for honesty. "We… hunt demons and monsters and--and--"

"Ghosts," Dean finished. "We hunt ghosts."

Beryl's eyes shot to Dean's face and fixed there. Sam wasn't sure, but he thought he saw his brother flinch.

"I thought as much," Beryl said quietly. "Why else would the black-eyes be after you?"

A curious thought occurred to Sam then. He wondered what Beryl had been doing in the cave, why she had met up with the cave creature, how she knew that the demons had placed the monster there… But now was not the time for such questions.

"Beryl, do you know how to get out of this cave?" Sam asked, fidgeting with the salt packets in his pocket.

"Yes." She nodded shortly. "I've never been able to cross the line, but I know where it is."

"Good. Could you show us how to get out?"

She nodded quickly. "We'll have to hurry." Her eyes narrowed on Sam's. "You may have to help your brother, Sam. He's hurt."

Dean scoffed. "I'm _fine_, Beryl."

It didn't surprise Sam that Dean denied being injured. It _did _surprise Sam that Dean used the ghost's name.

Beryl's eyes shifted to Dean. "I was a nurse, Dean," she told him with a gentle, motherly patience. "I know hurt when I see it."

Dean was feeling very uncomfortable under her scrutiny, Sam could tell. Thinking fast, he moved closer to his older brother and faced Beryl. "Lead us out of here, if you don't mind."

"Follow me," said Beryl, moving deeper into the corridor.

"So we're going to trust her?" Dean whispered to Sam as they finally stepped out of the tiny room, leaving an unconscious George behind.

"Do we have a choice?" Sam wondered aloud.

"We always have a choice, Sam," Dean replied. "And this time… I think we've made the right one." He sighed. "I don't know why, but I have this gut feeling about Beryl…that she's… good."

"Me, too." Sam nodded. He also had a gut feeling that Beryl was right about Dean, that Dean was hurt worse than he was letting on, and that reminded him… "Oh crap!"

"What is it?" Dean asked quickly.

"The medical kit." Sam left his brother standing in the tunnel and ducked back into the little room, quickly retrieving the kit from the floor. He glanced briefly at George, who still appeared to be deep in the realms of unconsciousness. Sam grinned slowly. Dean had certainly put the George Foreman on George… again.

"Sammy?"

"I'm coming." Sam jogged back into the corridor, the medical kit clutched tightly under his arm. "Do you see any of our other weapons?"

"They're over here."

Both boys looked to see Beryl pointing with an illuminated hand toward Sam's fallen pack.

"Uh… Thanks, Beryl," Dean muttered as they gathered up their things. Sam could tell that Dean felt weird saying thanks to a ghost. It made Sam feel weird just to hear it.

The Winchesters quickly gathered up their weapons and supplies. Sam made sure to grab the heavy stuff before Dean had a chance. He knew his brother. Dean would insist on carrying almost everything, even if it killed him.

"We're ready, Beryl," Sam told the ghost as he shouldered his full pack. "Lead on."

Beryl simply nodded to the brothers, then started walking down the tunnel, lighting it up with pale blue. Which reminded Sam…

"Hey, Beryl, do you know what that light was back there?" Sam spoke up. "The one that separated me and Dean just after we killed that cave creature?"

Beryl glanced back at him, a wry smile curving her lips. "That was me… sort of. I got there at the same time one of the demons did."

Sam frowned. "But… What _happened_?"

"The black-eyes saw me and threw some sort of attack at me," Beryl explained matter-of-factly. "And I countered."

"You… _countered_?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes," Beryl replied simply. She paused at an intersect of tunnels, glancing left and right. "I think we go left here."

"You _think_?" Dean made a face.

"I haven't tried to leave in awhile, Dean," Beryl retorted, shooting him a glare. "Ever since I figured out that I really can't."

"Sorry," Dean muttered.

"So… You countered the demon's attack." Sam doggedly picked the story back up, determined to figure out what was going on in this mine. "And that caused the earthquake and the flash of light?"

"Yes." Beryl's voice was barely above a whisper.

"You must be pretty powerful to do something like that," Sam remarked, peering closely at the beautiful ghost.

"I was in my life, as well," she told the boys quietly. "I was… special."

A chill rushed through Sam's body at her words. Special… Did she mean special like him? Like Max Miller? _Is she…_was_ she like me?_

"Left. We go left." Beryl gracefully turned and began walking down the corridor to the left.

"Let's go, man." Dean gently nudged Sam's elbow with his own.

Sam met his brother's eyes. "Dean…"

"And while we're following the hot ghost, uh, do you mind if I lean on you a bit?" Dean asked suddenly, eyes lowering.

Sam looked more closely at his brother. Dean's face was pale, and his eyes were feverishly bright.

"Dean--" Sam reached up to touch his brother's forehead.

Dean flinched away from the touch. "Just… Let me lean on you, okay?" he asked hoarsely.

Sam nodded quickly, swallowing hard. Worry twisted in his gut. "Okay, Dean. Lean on me."


	5. Of Ghostly Powers and Secrets

Hello there! As always, special thanks to amyblair for her advice and comments. And hurray for readers and reviewers!

I'm officially setting this story between season one episodes "Shadow" and "Dead Man's Blood." Somewhere in there... Which will make sense later in the story.

Enjoy! And let me know if you do! ;)

_Chapter Five_

Each step jarred Dean's ribs, causing his breath to catch painfully, causing the air he breathed to taste salty and metallic… like blood.

_Great. Just great. _Dean had made a very tough decision, and Sam's safety had been the final decider. It was either retain his pride and walk on his own, or lean on Sammy, saving his strength in case he needed to use it in Sam's defense.

Dean tried not to look at Sam as they shuffled along the corridor together, following the soft blue glow that was Beryl--possibly the freakin' hottest ghost they had seen yet. There was something in her eyes that made Dean trust her, that drew him even, something that reminded him of… The hitching of his breath this time had nothing to do with busted ribs. This ghost lady reminded him of his mom.

"How much farther?" Sam's voice snapped Dean out of his reverie as it echoed off the walls of the old mine, tinged with worry.

Dean realized then how heavily he was leaning on his brother. Shaking himself mentally, he shifted his balance, taking more of his weight on himself.

"Not long now," came Beryl's gentle voice. She stopped walking abruptly and turned to face the Winchesters, her head tilted to the side, golden hair tumbling around her left shoulder, in that gesture that wrenched strangely and poignantly at Dean's insides. "Sam, is Dean okay?"

"'M fine," Dean answered quickly, wincing at the ragged, raspy sound of his voice. "Let's just get outta here."

Beryl looked at Dean, her eyes curious and anxious. "Are you sure?"

Dean nodded tightly. "I've had worse," he bit out, tensing his body against what would be a telling shudder of pain.

"Hmm." Beryl hesitated for a few moments, then her eyes shifted to the darkness behind the brothers. "We'd best hurry," she said finally. "The black-eyes won't let us go that easily." She turned, with one final glance at Dean, and started walking again, dispelling the darkness with her incandescent glow as she went.

"Alright, Dean," came Sam's voice, helpful, worried, yet patient. "Let's go." His strong arm hooked under Dean's, and he hauled his brother forward into a slow, rhythmic walk.

"We should go faster," Dean gasped out, teeth clenching as he pressed a hand to his ever-aching side.

"I don't know if you could take that," Sam replied, frowning worriedly.

"I'll have to," Dean insisted grimly.

Sam's frown changed from one of worry to one of confusion.

"Smell that?" asked Dean.

Sam sniffed the air, his eyes widening with realization. "Sulfur." He looked to Beryl. "Beryl! They're coming!"

"We have to hurry!" Beryl exclaimed, motioning to the brothers. "Come on!" She quickened her pace, and the Winchesters did the same.

Guilt washed over Dean with the pain. He was holding Sam back. Sam was practically dragging him._ I wish I was stronger, wish I was more like Dad…_

"Beryl! We can't keep this up!" Sam hollered to the ghost, his grip tightening on his older brother.

"Sam, I can make it," Dean managed, wincing, not able to fight the shudders any longer. "Just… have to keep… going…"

"Stay with me, Dean!" Sam ordered, giving his brother a gentle shake.

"'M trying," Dean replied. _Buck up, Dean. Sammy needs you. Demons are coming…_

The smell of sulfur was thick and heavy in the air. Beryl glanced back at the brothers with a panicked look on her glowing face. "We'll have to hide," she announced quickly. "We can't outrun them."

"I'm holding you back," Dean panted as Sam stopped walking. The elder Winchester realized with a start that Sam was practically holding him up. "Let me stay and distract them. You can--you can go for help."

"Shut up, Dean," Sam snapped. He turned his attention to Beryl. "Where can we hide?"

Beryl glanced around quickly. "I think there's another small cave room around here somewhere. The miners used it as a closet for their equipment. Maybe we can hide in there."

"Oh, God," Dean muttered, shivering. Another tiny room… A stabbing pain shot through his side, then, and he gritted his teeth, locking a groan behind them. _Have to be strong… Have to take care of Sammy…_

"Beryl! We have to hurry!" Sam's frantic voice rang through Dean's aching head. "Dean? Dean!"

"Sorry, Sammy. Sorry…" Dean's words were cut short by a strangled cough that tore violently from his lungs, sending sharp stabs of pain up and down his right side. He couldn't take it anymore. He just couldn't. He murmured something involuntary as his knees buckled under him and his eyes slid shut.

* * *

"Save yourself." Dean's muttered words, pinched with pain, made Sam go cold inside. He felt even worse as he watched Dean start to collapse, his body going limp like a rag doll.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, catching his brother before Dean could make contact with the cold floor of the mine.

"Sam?" Beryl's gentle voice went shrill, shaky. "Is Dean--?"

"He's _fine_," Sam answered a bit more sharply than he intended. "Let's just get to this hiding place of yours--and fast." He could hear voices behind him in the tunnel--sinister, threatening voices.

"Come with me," Beryl whispered urgently, motioning with a slender, glowing hand.

Sam once again lifted Dean into his arms, a powerful fear radiating through his psyche.

Beryl led Sam a bit further down the corridor, then seemed to disappear into the rock wall.

"Beryl?" Sam's voice came out in a squeaky hiss. "Beryl!?"

"Oh! Sorry!" She reappeared in the corridor, a sheepish look on her face. "I forgot you can't move through walls."

Sam fought down the urge to roll his eyes. "Well where's the room?"

"There's an entrance over here," the ghost told him, moving ahead a bit. She traced a path along the wall of the mine with long, fluttering fingers. "Aha! Here we are!" With a smile of satisfaction, she stepped back and nodded to the wall. "Get inside, Sam. Quick!"

For a moment, Sam hesitated. He was trusting this ghost with his life--and with Dean's. He glanced down at Dean's ashen face, listened to the ragged sound of his brother's breathing… It was do or die… Or maybe _die _or die… But this was his only chance, _Dean's _only chance. He nodded tautly, confirming his own decision, then stepped forward. The light emanating from Beryl revealed a narrow opening in the cave wall, and he slipped inside, careful not to bump Dean against the sides of the opening.

"Set him down," Beryl whispered, gliding inside behind him.

Sam looked around. Once again, he was in a tiny room. This one, however, was a bit larger than the other, and its walls were studded with wooden shelves--shelves which held various mining tools and supplies.

"Sam. How is Dean?"

Sam shook himself free of curiosity and quickly turned his attention to Dean. He knelt slowly, gently lowering his brother to the ground. "Come on, Dean," he murmured, laying the back of his hand against Dean's forehead. "Wake up and say something smart."

"How is he?" asked Beryl with a quiet intensity, kneeling beside him.

"His skin is pretty hot," Sam replied, frowning. He let his pack slide down his arm to the floor. "And his breathing sounds awful."

"He could have a punctured lung, Sam," Beryl surmised calmly.

Sam remembered then that she had said she was a nurse. "You think so?"

Beryl shrugged. "It's possible."

Behind her calm voice, Sam detected a deep concern. He wondered why she cared so much about what happened to Dean… Which caused his earlier suspicions to return. "I'll take care of him," Sam told her firmly, moving closer to Dean and laying one hand on his brother's shoulder. "You just… keep watch."

For a split second, Beryl glared at him across Dean's wilted form, then a voice echoed through the corridor outside the room. Beryl sighed. "I'll keep watch," she agreed, standing and moving gracefully to the entrance of the room. "Now where's that door mechanism?"

As Beryl worked to seal the room, Sam focused his attention on Dean. Gently, he pushed up his brother's shirt, wincing at the sight of the dark bruises on his brother's side. He placed a hand against Dean's ribcage. Something definitely wasn't right there. Something felt out of place…

Sam glanced sharply at Beryl, who had managed to close the room's entrance with a sliding wooden door. He wondered how she had managed to do it so quietly…

"How is he?" Beryl asked again, suddenly meeting Sam's gaze.

Sam shivered involuntarily--whether from his suspicion of her or the intensity of her eyes, he wasn't sure. A painful lump suddenly tightened his throat, and he had to swallow it down to answer. "Not good. I think--I think some of his ribs are broken. You might be right about that punctured lung."

"Sam, let me help," Beryl pleaded quietly.

"I don't--I don't trust you," Sam replied. He felt torn inside… Dean's life might hang on his decision… Again.

"Sam…" Beryl took a deep breath.

"Sam?"

Sam looked down quickly. "Dean!" he exclaimed, sliding an arm under his brother's shoulders and lifting him so that Dean's head rested on his knee.

Dean's eyes fluttered opened. "Where are we?" he asked, his voice rough and shaky.

"Beryl led us to a place where we can hide," Sam explained, his words coming out all in a rush. He was nearly hyperventilating with the relief he felt at seeing his brother's eyes.

"Beryl…" Dean's eyelids slid downward, and for a moment, Sam worried that Dean would again lose consciousness. But Dean was stubborn, always had been. He was a Winchester, wasn't he? His eyelids jerked back open. "Gotta wrap my ribs up, Sammy, so I can breathe," he managed, his face tightening with pain.

"Okay. Okay." With shaking hands, Sam reached into his pack for the medical kit. "I'll get you fixed up, Dean."

"Good." Dean smiled a bit. "You'd better. Or I'll haunt you for all eternity."

"Huh. That would be something." Sam smiled then, too, as he unrolled a long strip of gauze. "Radios randomly changing to classic rock stations, cheeseburgers and pies disappearing from the refrigerator… You'd be some ghost, Dean."

Dean grinned broadly at that. "That I would, Sam. That I would." His grin faded suddenly, his body tensing.

"Dean?"

"'M with you, Sammy," Dean replied, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Just hang in there, man." Sam slid the gauze under his brother's back. "This might hurt a little."

"Already does," Dean muttered through clenched teeth, his body arching slightly off the ground.

Sam avoided looking at Dean's face as he wound the gauze tightly around his brother's waist. He also tried to ignore the grunts of pain, the rapid, ragged breaths… But he couldn't quite manage that. _Don't lose it, Sam. Don't lose it. You've gotta be strong for Dean, strong like Dean…_

Suddenly, Dean sighed, his body relaxing.

"Dean!" Sam quickly looked to his brother's face. His eyes widened at what he saw.

Beryl had one hand on Dean's brow and was bending over him, her face close to his. Her other hand softly stroked Dean's cheek.

"Beryl--"

"Sam." She met his eyes with a challenge, as if daring him to make her back off.

"What are you--?"

"I'm helping him," Beryl told him sharply. "Didn't I tell you I was special?"

"What--what all can you do?" Sam asked, still nervous to see his brother being caressed by a ghost.

"Lots of things," Beryl casually replied. She straightened, nodding toward Sam's hands. "Aren't you going to finish?"

Sam cleared his throat and turned back to the work of wrapping Dean's ribs. He finished the strip of gauze, taping it in place with medical tape. "Do you think--do you think that will help?" he asked Beryl, finally acknowledging the ghost lady's medical usefulness.

Beryl nodded, her hands still stroking Dean's face. "That will keep his ribs from shifting and doing further damage to his lungs."

"What--what else should I do?" Sam asked, feeling helpless and foolish and very, very young.

"He needs cool water to drink, to fight dehydration and help keep his fever down. A cold compress would help with that, too." Beryl gently lowered Dean's head to the floor. "And he needs rest." She sighed, crossing her arms. "Though I don't think he's going to like that…"

Voices suddenly reverberated through the mine. Sam recognized one of them as George Taggart's voice.

"Beryl?"

The ghost lady practically drifted to the door, pressing one delicate, glowing ear against it. "They're not far from us now," she whispered, frowning. "But they shouldn't be able to find us here if we're quiet."

"Why not?" asked Sam.

"You didn't spot this room until I pointed it out, did you?" Beryl replied a bit smugly. "Well they don't have me."

BANG!

Something slammed against the door, then, making Beryl jump, eyes wide.

"You were saying?" Sam hissed, moving into a protective stance in front of Dean.

* * *

The loud banging sound jolted Dean out of a fitful dream, a dream about fire and Sam and Mom and Dad… His heavy eyelids twitched, then slid opened, taking in a darkness faintly lit by a blue glow… Beryl. But where was--?

"Sammy?"

"Shh, Dean." Sam's big, strong hand closed around his shoulder.

BANG!

"Sam, what's going on?" Dean asked more urgently, his grogginess falling away in the face of danger--danger not only to himself, but (more importantly) to Sam.

"I think they've found us," Sam whispered quickly.

Dean attempted to sit up, then nearly screamed as white hot pain lanced through his body. His head fell back against the ground, his body tensing, muscles fighting the agony ripping across his waist. But hey, at least the breathing thing was easier… He sucked in a breath and prepared to make another manly attempt at sitting up.

"Easy, Dean." Sam's arm slid behind his shoulders, gently helping him into a sitting position.

"Thanks, man," Dean panted, shuddering.

"I tell you, someone's _in _there!" a voice rang through the thick wooden door. "I can _smell _human flesh."

"Beryl!" Sam snapped, looking toward the glowing woman standing in front of the door. "I thought you said--"

"Shh!" Beryl cautioned, placing a finger in front of her lips. She closed her eyes and pressed one hand against the door, her pale brow furrowing slightly.

_What the heck? _Dean looked questioningly at Sam.

Sam shrugged. "How are you feeling?" he whispered.

"Like crap," Dean replied hoarsely, honestly.

Sam grinned suddenly, broadly. "Feeling better, then?"

"There's no one there," came another frustrated voice from beyond the door. "You summoned me here for _nothing_!"

"I _sensed _them! I'm sure of it!"

"Well try it again."

"… I'm getting nothing."

"Did they just vanish?"

Dean distinguished three different voices from the other side of the door… Three demons… He lifted his chin and balled up his fists. Well let them come. He'd go down fighting, maybe find a way to distract the bastards long enough to give Sam time to get out…

"There's no one here. I must have been mistaken."

"We'll search the northern tunnel, then."

"They must have given us the slip."

"We'll find them. Don't worry."

Dean stared bewildered at the door. Had the demons given up so easily? His eyes were suddenly drawn to Beryl, who was relaxing against the door, her face even paler than usual. Had she somehow used a ghostly ability to mislead the demons?

"Beryl…" Sam breathed, eyes wide with wonder. "What did you _do_?"

Beryl tossed him a smug smile. "Sam, Sam. Always with the questions."

And that sparked something in Dean's weary brain. How did Beryl know Sam so well after only a few minutes of being acquainted? Something fishy was going on…

"Beryl." Dean put as much John Winchester firmness into his voice as he could manage in his pained and breathless condition. "What's going on here?"

"What do you mean?" She turned to him with wide, innocent eyes. Or perhaps _not _so innocent eyes.

"Oh, come on," Dean snapped, rolling his eyes. "Don't play ignorant with me, Beryl. You _know _us, don't you? You know who we are. And for some reason, you're protecting us."

Beryl stared at Dean, stared _hard _at him, but he didn't flinch away. Her eyes flew over his face, finally settling on his own soul's windows and fixing there. She sighed, and it was a strange, tender sigh, a sigh of affection. "Okay, okay. I'll explain." She winced a bit. "He told me not to tell."

"_Who_ told you?" Sam demanded.

Beryl's pale eyes flicked to Sam's face, then back to Dean's. "Your father."


	6. Winchesters to the Bone

Greetings to everyone who is still reading this story! I appreciate you very much! And I apologize for the delay in updates. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Let me know what you think! ;)

Special thanks to the amazing amyblair for the beta-reading, and to ukfan101 for always leaving an encouraging word!

Chapter Six

_Your father._

"Dad?" Dean managed to get to his knees, with an embarrassing amount of wincing and panting. "Dad told you about us?"

Beryl nodded, biting her lip. Her expression was wide-eyed, innocent, achingly appealing.

It bothered Dean how attractive and endearing he found her to be--especially since she had been retaining pertinent information… And also possibly because she was dead. "Why didn't you _tell _us, Beryl?"

"John told me not to," Beryl told him quietly, matter-of-factly.

"He told you not to." Sam shook his head, lips pressed tightly together. Dean recognized the look. "Does everyone always do what Dad says?" His voice was taut with pent-up frustration.

"Well obviously not," Beryl replied, hands on her hips. "I'm disobeying the man right now, aren't I?" She sighed and ran a hand through her glowing, golden hair. "Although, it's mighty hard." A wry smile touched her lips. "He's quite a--quite a convincing man."

"What--what all did Dad say?" Dean asked excitedly, eagerly. "How did you meet him? Is he okay?"

Beryl nodded slightly. "He's fine. He was here looking for something, didn't exactly tell me what. But he said the two of you might be along eventually." She smiled, then, shaking her head. "He was going to burn my bones, you know, send me packing… And honestly, I thought it was a good plan. I gave him permission." She shrugged casually.

Dean thought that this was one of the weirdest conversations he had ever had. "He was going to burn your bones… And you were fine with that…"

"I'm ready to go, Dean." She turned her intense eyes on him once again. "I know where I'm going."

This sort of talk unsettled Dean, so he quickly asked, "Well… Why didn't he? Burn your bones, I mean."

"Because of you," Beryl told him quietly. "And Sam. He figured you'd be along sooner or later. And he thought I could help you."

"Way to go, Dad." Dean grinned. "I think he made the right decision." He glanced quickly to Sam. His little brother was peering curiously at Beryl, a look of scientific bafflement on his face.

_Uh-oh_.

"Beryl--Did you _volunteer _to, uh, haunt the earth for a little while longer, or did Dad _make _you?" Sam asked, frowning.

Beryl crossed her arms and looked at Sam. "I agreed to stick around for awhile." Her features softened as she faced the younger Winchester brother. "Your father was very nice to me… once he figured out I wasn't trying to rip his heart out or anything like that."

Sam nodded tersely and looked away from her.

"Your father loves you, Sam," Beryl told him suddenly, softly.

"He's got a strange way of showing it," Sam bit out.

"Actually," Dean spoke up, "I think it's kinda cool. I mean, most people send flowers or cards to say 'I love you.'" He grinned. "Dad sent a ghost."

Sam looked askance at his brother, one dark eyebrow raised.

Dean chuckled. "I like this idea more and more. What better way to avoid chick flick moments and still show that you care? Send a ghostly guardian!" He could tell Sam was trying not to smile.

Sam failed, a boyish grin breaking out across his face, flashing white in Beryl's luminescence. "Okay, so maybe it's a cool idea."

"I have another cool idea," Beryl announced, drawing the attention of both Winchester boys. "How about we get you two out of here?"

"I'm all for that one," Sam replied with a heavy sigh and worried glance in Dean's direction.

Dean shrugged--a moment that tugged painfully at his side. "Let's do it." He took a deep (painful) breath, gathered his strength, and hauled himself to his feet before Sammy could get there to help. The room spun for a minute, but Dean managed by strength of will to keep from swaying on his feet. He grinned smugly at Sam and Beryl.

"Dean, maybe you should--" Sam started forward.

Dean quickly raised a halting hand. "I'm _fine_, Sam. We just need to get the heck out of this place." He fixed Beryl with a green-eyed gaze. "And how are we gonna do that, Beryl?"

Beryl chewed on her lower lip, which was beautifully shaped, despite its bluish glow. "It would be so much easier if the two of you were dead…"

Dean blinked, then stared wide-eyed at the ghost woman. "Excuse me?"

"She can walk through walls, Dean," Sam explained. "If we were dead, maybe we could, too."

Dean gave a short, mirthless laugh. "Well, crap, I wish we were dead!" he exclaimed dryly, throwing up his hands. _Dang it. _Pain shot up his right side and through his lungs, cutting short his air supply. He tried to gasp in a chest-full of oxygen. That hurt. Didn't work. Muscles trembling, he bent double, clutching at his side.

"Maybe you spoke too soon," Beryl remarked, drifting quickly to his side.

But Sam beat her there.

"God, Dean." A strong arm came around the elder Winchester's shoulders, hooked under his elbow, lowered him to a kneel on the cold floor of the cave room.

Dean still couldn't breathe. Black and white spots danced in his vision like evil fireworks. Everything hurt, everything trembled, especially his chest, his side, his lungs. "Sammy," he managed tightly, gripping the front of his brother's shirt with a shaking hand.

"What can I do, Dean?" Sam asked, his eyes plaintive and terrified.

_Nothing. Can't do anything. No one can. Not even-- _Dean's head snapped up, eyes settling on Beryl. "Beryl," he gasped out. "She can--" His words were cut off by a groan, which he managed to deepen just in time to prevent it from turning into an unmanly whimper.

Sam's eyes lit up with comprehension. "Beryl can reach _through _things!" he cried. "She can _fix _you!"

Sometimes it paid having a super-smart brother. Although the words "fix you" carried a negative connotation….

Dean nodded quickly, tightly, teeth clenched against the pain. He tasted blood in his mouth, started to choke on it, had to cough. He fell forward on his hands, hacking up blood.

"Beryl!" Sammy's voice echoed in Dean's ear. "Help him!"

"Lay him down, Sam. Hurry," came Beryl's urgent tones. "On his side so he doesn't choke."

Dean's body was convulsed with coughing by now. He was far too weak to fight back when Sam grabbed hold of him and laid him down on his left side. Random thoughts ran through his mind, as if propelled by the pain. _Dad… Ghost… Ghost babysitter… Beryl… She's pretty hot… Friend of Dad… Friend of the family… Mom… Wish I could see Mom… Sammy… Have to get Sammy out of here… Look after Sammy… Can't breathe… Man, that hurts… Sam! Help me!_

"Easy, Dean. Just breathe, man." Sam's big hand spread across Dean's forehead, checking his temperature.

The coughing slowly ceased, but breathing was still hard--and it hurt like crap, seizing Dean's whole body with shudders. Wheezing, Dean flashed his brother a reassuring grin and managed a shaky thumbs up.

Sam smiled back, then quickly looked up. "Beryl?"

Dean's blurry vision cleared as it was shot through with a blue glow. Beryl knelt beside him, peering at him with a ridiculous amount of concern.

"Dean, this might feel kind of weird. And I don't know if it will work--"

"Just get it _done_," Dean bit out. "I've gotta get Sam outta here."

A wry smile touched Beryl's lips. She didn't have to say anything, Dean realized. She understood. She comprehended his need to take care of Sammy, to look after Sammy. "Okay, Dean." She looked over him then, met Sam's eyes, nodded, then looked back at Dean. "Just breathe, okay?"

Sam's hands clamped onto Dean's shoulder and arm.

Beryl stretched out a pale, slender hand. "Here goes nothing," she muttered. Then she plunged her hand into Dean's chest.

Dean sucked in a sharp, involuntary breath at the strange sensation of a ghost's hand reaching into his body. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it didn't feel good either. It felt… cold.

"Beryl?" Sam asked, fingers shifting on Dean's arm.

Beryl's look was one of intense concentration. "I can feel his ribcage."

"And I can feel her freakin' glowing hand," Dean muttered. Her fingers brushing against his ribs felt… vaguely creepy.

"Hang in there, Dean," Beryl murmured soothingly, staring at his torso. "Okay, something doesn't feel right here…" She moved her hand slightly inside him.

Dean nearly screamed with pain, back arching, as pain flared up in his chest and abdomen, clawing at his lungs--and his sanity.

"Sorry, sorry," Beryl soothed quickly.

"Mmm," Dean groaned, gritting his teeth.

"It'll be okay, Dean," Sam told him softly, squeezing his shoulder.

"That's definitely a break," Beryl declared with a wince.

"Well what can you do about it?" Sam asked quickly.

"Yeah. Do tell," Dean muttered through clenched teeth.

"I can set it, which would relieve pressure from his lung and prevent further damage," Beryl told them. "But if there's any damage already…" She sighed. "There's not much I can do about that."

"Just fix it," Dean gritted out, short breaths hissing harshly through his teeth.

"Okay." Beryl made a face. "This is gonna hurt."

"What else is new?" Dean rolled his eyes. "Just get it over with."

"Fine." Beryl looked at Sam, perhaps to obtain permission.

Sam must have nodded… because Beryl jerked Dean's rib back into place.

Dean couldn't help it. He cried out in pain--loudly and sharply--his body jerking off the ground, his back arched, his hands flailing out, reaching for anything within grabbing distance. Something closed around his left hand and held it tight, something big and warm and solid--Sam's hand.

"It's over, Dean. It's over," Sam soothed, clasping Dean's hand comfortingly.

"Better be," Dean muttered, his body limp against the floor, sweat standing out on his forehead. He gasped a curse at the bizarre sensation of Beryl withdrawing her cold hand from his chest. And to his surprise, the gasp didn't bring up the coppery taste of blood, and although it hurt some, it wasn't nearly as painful as his earlier breaths had been. "Th-thanks, Beryl," he whispered, closing his eyes.

"You're welcome," she replied softly.

"Will he be okay now?" Sam asked.

"He'll be better," Beryl replied. "But I don't know about okay. As long as his lung isn't too damaged already--and as long as he doesn't take any rough hits to the torso for awhile--he _should _be okay…"

"Well thanks for the sunny forecast, Beryl," Dean jibed, opening his eyes and narrowing them on her. "I'm okay now." He rolled over onto his back and looked up at his unusually tall brother. "Help me up, Sammy."

* * *

Sam pulled Dean to his feet, attention focused entirely on his brother. "So what now, Dean? How do we get out of here?" he asked. His words avoided the subject occupying his mind--_Dean is better. Dean is breathing easy. Beryl saved him. _

"We walk right out the door," Dean said casually, his eyes darting around the room and locating all the Winchester's equipment. "Then we regroup, come up with a plan, and take these demons out."

"And burn my bones," Beryl added firmly.

Sam looked hard at his brother, then at Beryl, then back at Dean. "Are you serious, Dean?"

Dean gave a short nod. "Deadly."

"You--you almost _died _like five minutes ago," Sam protested. "And you want to come back and fight the things that almost killed you?"

Dean looked thoughtful for a few brief seconds, then he shrugged. "Something like that."

"And you--" Sam pointed at Beryl. "You're really that ready to move on to the next life?"

Beryl nodded. "I am. But first, I need to finish my job. I need to get the two of you out of here." She turned to Dean with a slight frown on her face. "Maybe you should leave the demons to me, Dean. Sam's right. You're recovering from some serious injuries."

"Part of the job, sweetheart," Dean replied, bending down to retrieve Sam's pack of supplies. He straightened with a wince, then cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, turning to face Sam. "Ready to high-tail it outta here, Sam?"

"I'll check the hallway," Beryl volunteered quickly. She brushed past the brothers, eyes on the door. Sam noticed that one of her glowing, slender hands reached out as if to touch Dean's shoulder, then fluttered and dropped gracefully to her side. Dean didn't notice.

Sam narrowed his eyes on the ghost as she drifted to the door of the cave room. This woman, this _spirit _had some strange attachment to Dean, an attraction perhaps… or maybe something deeper. Sam wondered…

Beryl suddenly gasped, jerking back from the door.

"What is it?" Dean asked, frowning.

"One of them is out there," Beryl told the brothers, eyes wide.

"Sam--get that exorcism ready," Dean ordered.

Sam nodded shortly and reached into his pocket where he had shoved the paper. "I've got it."

"Then let's--" Dean started.

The door to the cavern suddenly burst open, sending Beryl tumbling backward.

Lysander (or was it George?) stood in the doorway, grinning crookedly. "I _knew_ I sensed you hiding in here," he boasted. Then his eyes went shiny black, testifying to the demon within.

Sam whipped the exorcism out of his pocket. "Get back!" he shouted at the demon.

"Not so fast, Sam Winchester," Lysander rebuked, raising a hand.

"Sam!" Dean cried, sprinting forward.

Sam's throat was suddenly tight, his vision blurring dark. He tried to speak the words of the exorcism, but his throat was closing. So then he tried to call Dean's name. That wasn't working either. Attempting to gasp for breath, he collapsed to his knees. The last thing he heard before blacking out completely was Dean cussing like a sailor.

_

* * *

_

Dean's heartbeat skipped painfully at the sight of Sam folding, falling, smacking the ground with a thud. Rage tinted his vision with red--and punched his reflexes into top gear. He shot forward, jerking a flask of holy water out of Sam's bag as he moved, shouting insults at the demon. "Let my brother go, you bastard!" he yelled, splashing holy water at the creature.

Lysander hissed and stepped backward, scowling as a drop of blessed water singed the back of one hand.

Dean dropped to his knees beside Sam, quickly taking up the exorcism. Glaring at the demon, he began to read.

Lysander's eyes widened with fear. He took another step back, intending to retreat, or perhaps to call for help. But he exorcism had a hold on him. He dropped to his knees with a resounding cry that echoed off the walls of the mine.

Satisfied, Dean smiled coldly, practically spitting the Latin words at the demon.

Lysander screamed, head thrown back, spewing dark smoke upward toward the ceiling of the cave room. The room began to shake.

"Dean!" Beryl cried, hovering close to the brothers.

Dean continued reading the Latin, one hand fumbling with the collar of Sam's jacket, fingers pressing against the spot where Sam's pulse should beat. A sigh of relief shuddered through his voice as he felt Sam's pulse beating against his fingers, but he kept up the steady stream of Latin.

As Dean finished the exorcism, the cave rumbled and shook. Black smoke burst from the mouth of the demon's host and shot through the ceiling. George, once again the man, collapsed to the ground in a dead faint.

Dean didn't notice. His attention was turned entirely to his brother. "Sam!" he cried, giving Sam's shoulder a gently shake. "Sammy, wake up!"


	7. The Sam With the Plan

This one is kind of a bridge chapter, but it was still lots of fun to write--and hopefully to read.

As always, thanks to my readers, reader/reviewers (my heroes), and my beta reader amyblair!

Chapter Seven

Sam was having a weird dream. He dreamed that Dean was making out with Beryl… and Beryl wasn't glowing. She wasn't a ghost anymore. She was just a girl… a girl making out with Dean. Sam kind of liked that. She would make a nice girlfriend for Dean--someone smart and witty and caring, someone who could keep Dean in line--and safe and… entertained …

"Kissing in public? Come on, guys," Sam teased them.

Dean and Beryl halted their passionate embrace just long enough to roll their eyes at Sam.

"Sammy! Wake up!"

The dream Dean and un-ghostly Beryl faded, leaving blackness--and a massive headache--in their wake.

"Sam!"

Something was shaking him.

Dean, probably.

The shaker swore.

Definitely Dean.

Sam managed to open his eyes a bit.

"Sam! You okay?"

Sam nodded, lifting his aching head from the cold floor of the mine. He winced, then tried to speak, tried to reassure Dean that he was, in fact, okay. All that came out was a cough.

Dean's strong arms lifted Sam into a sitting position, one hand gently patting his back. Sam felt like a child again, which felt strangely good. He gripped Dean's free arm and leaned into his brother's sturdy shoulder, basking in the comfort of having a big brother, until the coughing ceased and he could breathe again. "Th-thanks," he wheezed, leaning away from Dean.

Dean's eyes were focused intensely on Sam, worried and protective. "You okay?" he asked again.

_If I could have a quarter for every time he asks me that… _"I'm fine, Dean," Sam replied, his voice strong once again. Shaking his head to clear it, he looked around the room. "Where--where's the demon?"

"I sent that sucker packing," Dean told him proudly, brandishing the exorcism paper. He glanced toward the doorway of the room. "All that's left is that loser George."

Sam glanced at the prone figure in the doorway, then looked back at his brother. "What about the others?"

"They're not far."

Beryl.

Sam glanced up at the glowing woman, suddenly reminded of his dream. A grin tugged at his lips.

"What?" she asked sharply, arms crossed.

"I had a funny dream about you," Sam told her, smiling slowly.

"You Winchesters and your ridiculous sense of timing!" Beryl exclaimed, rolling her eyes.

Sam cleared his throat, forcing his mind back to the task at hand. "So… The other demons aren't far?"

"No." Beryl's voice softened, barely above a whisper. "I need to get you two out of here."

Sam set his jaw. "Maybe we should finish off the demons first."

"What!?" Beryl exclaimed, narrowing her eyes on Sam. "You must be joking."

"I'm dead serious." Sam met her gaze bravely.

"Sam--" Dean started.

"_Think_ about it, Dean." Sam spun to face his brother. "These bad guys aren't stupid. We leave now, they'll follow us and hunt us down."

Dean stared levelly at Sam for a few moments, then sighed and nodded tightly. "You're right, Sammy. We might as well take 'em out now."

"Leave them to _me_," Beryl interjected, arms crossed, lower lip trembling and glowing all at once. "I'm supposed to take care of you two. And I can't do that if you're rushing into battle like berserk Viking warriors!"

Sam raised an eyebrow at that. Standing next to him, his brother laughed loudly.

"Berserk Viking warriors, eh? That's pretty cool!" Dean chuckled.

"You're supposed to take care of us," Sam repeated dryly. "That's just--"

"Don't you start complaining about everyone always listening to your dad, Sam Winchester!" Beryl interrupted, wagging a finger at him. "Or I'll--"

"You'll what?" Sam spread his arms. "Reach into my head and scramble my brains around?"

Beryl glared.

"Good one, Sammy," Dean congratulated his brother, patting his shoulder. Before Sam could speak again, Dean stepped forward and faced the beautiful, angry ghost. "Beryl, no offense, but… _We're _the ones who know how to take these guys out--not you."

"I can learn," Beryl replied, lifting her chin.

"Failing is also something you can do," Dean responded sharply.

"And what happens then?" Beryl asked. "I get killed? Huh. Been there, done that." She laughed bitterly and turned her back on the Winchesters. "They can't hurt me, Dean… But I can hurt them."

Sam looked quickly at his brother. Dean's lips were pressed tightly together, eyes narrowed on Beryl's back. Sam worried what Dean might say or do… That look on his face was dangerous.

"If you fail to stop these guys, they'll just come after me and Dean anyway," Sam spoke up quickly, drawing Beryl's attention back to him.

The ghost girl's eyes widened a bit, her mouth opening slightly.

"_Think _about it, Beryl," Sam told her quietly, steadily. "We have to work _together_."

* * *

When Sam said that they had to work together, a million things rushed through Dean's mind. One of those things was his dad's face, his dad's words, the last time they'd seen him… They'd been bloody and beaten, slashed up by Zoroastrian demons. And it had been Dean's idea to split them apart… Then Dean thought about Beryl and the word "together." He liked thinking of that name and that word simultaneously. _Face it, dude. You've got the hots for a dead woman… _

"You've got a point," Beryl conceded to Sam, wincing slightly, the remnants of stubborn resistance still plain on her face.

She was a fighter. She didn't give up easily. Dean liked that.

"So now what do we do?" Beryl asked, looking suddenly at Dean.

The familiar weight of responsibility settled on Dean's shoulders. He flashed the attractive apparition a confident smile. "We send these black-eyed bastards back to hell."

"That's a great plan," Beryl remarked dryly. "So specific, so _detailed_."

"Woman." Dean glared at her… but he couldn't keep it up for long. She looked really cute with one eyebrow raised. "Well somehow, obviously, we're gonna have to read an exorcism to these demons… which means we're gonna have to get close to them."

"That's the detail that bothers me." Beryl sighed. "I promised your father--"

"I know, Beryl," Dean said quietly, gently. "And you're gonna keep that promise."

Beryl nodded shortly, looking down at her pale hands, which were twisting the fabric of her dress. Her eyes were suddenly distant, thoughtful. "If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you boys to make a promise to me."

Dean frowned, an ominous feeling washing over him.

"What is it, Beryl?" Sam asked.

Beryl looked up, glancing at Sam, then at Dean, then back at Sam. "I'd like you to promise to burn my bones when this is all over."

Pain lanced through Dean… inner pain, heart hurt. He thought he should be used to it by now, but he wasn't, and he didn't like it. He swallowed hard and clenched his jaw.

"Alright, Beryl." Sam's voice was calm, pleasant. His eyes shone with admiration as he looked at the ghost who was unafraid of the afterlife. "We can do that for you." He turned those calm eyes suddenly and sharply on Dean. "Right, Dean?"

Dean's body felt tense, like a tightly coiled spring. He found it ridiculously hard to squeeze words out of his throat. "Sure." The noncommittal word ground hoarsely out of his throat.

"Dean?" Beryl spoke up.

Dean looked at her, managing a rigid smile. "Ma'am?"

"You'll do this for me, won't you?" she asked, her eyes fixing on his insistently.

Dean closed his eyes for a few seconds, then looked down at his boots, hands shoved in his pockets. "If that's what you want," he muttered, barely restraining an all-out frown.

"It is," she replied quietly, firmly.

She wasn't afraid at all of what awaited her beyond death. _She's crazy. Absolutely crazy… _Dean glanced up, peered intently at her face. _Or maybe she just knows something I don't…_

"I suppose we need to add more details to your plan, Dean," Beryl said then. "We need to figure out a way to get close to those demons without you two being killed or injured. Maybe a distraction… a trick of some sort--"

"Sam's pretty good at that sort of thing," Dean told her, glancing at his brother. There was still a raw edge to his voice, and his heart still felt wounded--despite knowing that Beryl _wanted _to leave the world forever. "Any ideas, Sammy?" He turned to his brother, hoping he was doing a good job of masking his inner turmoil.

"Well, maybe we could--" Sam started.

A rustling noise drew the attention of the Winchester brothers and the ghost. Dean's sharp green eyes quickly located the source--George.

The former demon host was scrambling to his feet, wide eyes fixed on Dean.

"Get back down," Dean ordered, pointing a threatening finger at the man.

George sank back down to his knees, holding up his hands. "Don't even _think _about hitting me again, you thug," he spat, sneering at Dean. "In case you haven't noticed, I have very powerful friends."

"In case you haven't noticed, Princess Leia, I just sent one of your little buddies back to hell," Dean countered, eyes narrowing dangerously.

George's eyes widened even more… which gave Dean a satisfactory feeling. The wide eyes shifted to Beryl's slender, glowing form. George's expression of fear morphed into one of bewilderment. "And what are _you _supposed to be?"

"I'm a ghost," Beryl answered casually.

"Right…" George stared at her for a few seconds, then looked back at Dean. "So you're in league with a ghost?" he asked snarkily. "And you've been miraculously healed, I see. Will the wonders never cease?"

"I'm getting tired of your mouth," Dean told him, balling up his fists and tilting his head from side to side.

"Well I suppose I should get ready for you to punch it," George shot back. "That seems to be your style."

"Don't tempt me," Dean growled.

At that moment, a call rang through the corridors of the mine.

"Lysander!"

"Oh crap," Dean muttered. He turned quickly to Sam. "Gotten anywhere on that plan, Sammy?"

Sam made a face. "I'm thinking. I'm thinking."

"Beryl?" Dean faced the ghost woman, unease settling in his bones… which still ached a bit.

Beryl met his eyes for a brief moment, then looked toward the door of the room. "I'll go see where they are, maybe try to distract them."

Dean swallowed. "Alright. Be careful."

A wry smile tilted Beryl's enticing lips. "I don't have to be," she said. And then she was gone, disappearing through the wall. Her absence left the room in near-total darkness.

"Fantastic," George groaned.

"I would think you'd like the dark," Dean retorted. "You and all your demon-worshipping kind."

George declined to comment… which suited Dean just fine.

"How are you feeling, Dean?" Sam asked abruptly.

Dean squinted through the darkness until he could make out Sam's tall, lanky figure. "I'm fine," he answered automatically. True, he felt much better now that Beryl had jerked his rib back into place, but a lingering ache had settled into his bones, and his breath still felt raw at times. "Absolutely A-okay," he added. "How 'bout you, Sammy?"

"I'm good," Sam replied.

Which was a bit too vague for Dean's liking. "Your throat feeling better?"

"Fine, Dean."

"And your head?"

"_Fine_."

Dean grinned. There was something so rewarding about bugging Sam… "And how 'bout your creativity? Is that feeling okay? I sure hope it is, 'cause if it isn't, we are in a big, crappy load of trouble. No pressure or anything."

"Dude, I have a plan."

The certainty in Sam's voice surprised Dean. "O…kay. That was fast. So what is it?"

"As soon as Beryl gets back, I'll tell you." Dean could hear his brother fumbling around in his pack. Light suddenly shot through the darkness, making Dean blink rapidly.

"Beryl's gotta be a part of this," Sam continued, waving his flashlight around the room.

The whole "working together" idea reverberated through Dean's brain. It was a remarkably calming thing to think about… Having people at his back, watching _their _backs, working as a unit. It was just the sort of thing Dean liked, the sort of thing that reminded him of the old days, of working hunts together with John and Sam. _Good times…_

Dean cleared his throat, lowered his voice, braced himself to ward off any incoming chick flick moments. "So… What's the plan, Sam?"

Sam sighed, giving in. "I thought maybe Beryl could distract the demons, make them think we're in this room and lead them inside. Then we could shut the door behind them and start reading the exorcism." He shrugged. "That's pretty much it."

"Sounds good," Dean conceded. "Except… These possessed guys are pretty powerful. Think they could blow the door down with their minds?"

George laughed suddenly, cruelly.

"Shut _up_!" Dean yelled at him, glaring. This man was really starting to get on his nerves…

"Wait." Sam held out a restraining hand toward his brother, a patient, cautioning look in his eyes. He turned the flashlight beam on George. "Hey, if we locked your little buddies in here and laid down a salt line, do you think they could get out?"

The demon worshipper pressed his lips tightly together and faced Sam with impudence.

Sam turned back to Dean. "Dean, you wanna put the Chuck Norris on him, or shall I?" There was a sly grin in his voice and on his face.

Dean linked his hands together and cracked his knuckles, stretching and flexing the muscles in his arms… which would have been a much more impressive gesture had he not winced at the sharp pain pinching his side. "If you don't mind, Sammy, I think I'll--"

"No, wait!" George exclaimed suddenly.

The Winchesters turned to him, wearing twin expressions of manliness and threat.

"It'll hold them," George told them quickly. "It's a good plan."

Dean looked to Sam with a raised eyebrow. "Think we can trust this loser?"


	8. In the Rabbit Box

Hello there, readers! As always, special thanks goes to my beta-reader, amyblair, and also to those of you whose reviews inspire me to keep going. And to the Winchesters for being so fun to work with. ;)

Chapter Eight

Sam glanced at George, whose expression was impassive. He looked back at Dean and shook his head. "No. I don't trust him."

"Hmm. Me, neither."

_If looks could kill_, Sam thought, _Dean's green gaze would be melting George into a very unpleasant pile of goo. _He nearly grinned at the thought of Dean having laser eyes, but the sobriety of the situation kept him from such an expression.

"We should probably go ahead and lay down some salt anyway, Dean," Sam suggested. "Even if that won't stop them entirely, it might slow them down."

"Good plan." Dean reached into the supply bag, then hesitated, a frown touching his face.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"What about Beryl?" Dean took out the cannister of salt, staring at it with a worried look. "Will this stuff keep her out, too?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "I don't think so, Dean. She can walk through walls, remember? She won't have to use the door."

Dean's face brightened. "Oh yeah. You're right." He slid the bag over his shoulder, keeping a tight hold on the container of salt. "So… When do you think she'll be back?"

"Hopefully soon," Sam replied with a sigh. _Hopefully before you drive me crazy worrying about a dead woman… which is so weird. Hopefully before _I _start worrying about said dead woman. Hopefully before one of us cracks and decides to take George out. Hopefully before the demons come back and decide to take _us _out…_

"Soon is good," Dean remarked. He was getting antsy, Sam could tell. The elder Winchester started pacing, shifting the canister of salt back and forth between his hands, casting the occasional dark glance at George.

Sam tried to think of something--anything--to say that would calm his brother down. Maybe he should ask him something about the Impala… He'd actually forgotten where they parked it, so that would be a valid question. Dean would remember. Dean always kept tabs on that car. Sam opened his mouth to ask, but was interrupted by the echo of voices ringing through the corridors of the old mine--demon voices.

Dean's pacing ceased, and the young hunter's body tensed in an alert stance. "Sam?"

Sam swallowed. "Yeah?"

"We might have to do this without Beryl." Dean's eyes were wide, his knuckles white as they gripped the container of salt. "You got a backup plan?"

Sam winced. "Not really. No."

Dean swore, then flashed Sam what the younger brother thought might be an apologetic grin. "Well… We'll make do, Sammy. Dad didn't train us for nothin.'"

The mention of their father sent an automatic spark of resistance through Sam's psyche, but he quickly snuffed it out, nodding. "You're right. What would Dad do?" He kept as much bitterness out of his voice as possible.

Dean glanced sharply at him, then turned away with an "I didn't hear that" look on his face. "Dad would take the fight to those black-eyed bastards."

"Please do that," George spoke up, a nasty smile twisting his smooth features. "I'd _love _to see you two get _roasted_."

"Well, lame-o, you're gonna miss out on that one," Dean replied with an measure of control that surprised Sam. "'Cause when we meet up with your 'powerful friends,' Sam and I aren't the ones getting roasted. Right, Sam?"

Sam nodded shortly. "Sure, Dean." He gave his brother a cautioning look.

Dean sighed and turned to face the outward wall of the room. "Boy… I sure do wish Beryl would get her glowing blue--"

"Your wish is my command."

Dean jumped back with a curse as Beryl materialized right beside him. "Dang it, woman! Don't _do _that!"

Sam grinned. If there hadn't been bloodthirsty demons lurking in the hall just outside, he would have laughed aloud.

"So boys… Got a plan?" Beryl asked, standing akimbo and looking from brother to brother.

"We _had _a plan, but…" Sam sighed and cast a dark glance in George's direction. "We're not all that sure it's gonna work." He narrowed his eyes on Beryl, a chill suddenly settling in his bones. "Weren't you supposed to distract the demons?" When she nodded, he continued, pointing at the door. "Then why are they right outside?"

"They split up," Beryl told him with a wince. "I was able to lead off one group, and I hoped the others would…" She sighed and ran a hand through her fair, glowing locks. "I'm sorry, guys."

"It's okay, Beryl," Dean replied quickly. "It's not your fault."

Sam raised his eyebrows as he looked at his brother. Dean was certainly attached to this ghost woman… and Sam dreaded how Dean would react when the time came to burn her bones…

* * *

"Alright… So here's what we do…"

Sam, Dean, and Beryl knelt together in a corner as far removed from the smirking George as possible. Sam was doing the talking, doing the planning.

_Talking with his hands again_, Dean observed, watching his brother speak. _He always does that when he gets into something… _

"We have to get those demons to come into this room… And somehow, we've got to get out and shut 'em in here." Sam spread his big hands wide. "What I'm thinking is at least one of us needs to get out the door and into the hall as soon as they're all in here. Then the other two distract them, box them in, while the guy outside lays down the salt line--"

_Guy outside… Oh crap. Sam wants me to be the outside guy. Tryin' to keep me out of danger. _Dean rolled his eyes.

"Dean? Do you have a problem with this plan?"

Dean was shocked at how much his brother's expression reminded him of their dad. "Sam, I know you well enough to know that you're gonna want me outside."

"And I know _you _well enough to know that you're gonna want _me _outside," Sam countered. "But it's not gonna happen, Dean. You're the injured one, and--"

"Beryl fixed that," Dean replied firmly. "I'm fine." He frowned. "And why can't both of us be on the outside? Or on the inside? Why do we have to split up?"

"Because that's the way the plan works, Dean. Look, I--"

A banging sound cut Sam off, and the younger Winchester's eyes widened and shifted toward the door.

"Demons?" Dean whispered hoarsely.

Sam nodded slowly. "I think… probably so."

A sudden terrible thought yanked at Dean's psyche. He stood, wincing at the pain brought on by quick movement, and turned sharply to face George. The demon worshipper was staring back at him, poised like some hunted creature ready to run. "Don't. Even. Think about it," Dean threatened darkly. George sneered back at the hunter, and Dean knew his suspicions had been right. George had been about to give them away.

Dean glanced over his shoulder at Sam and Beryl. "Do we have anything to gag this loser with?"

"I'll look around," Sam replied. He began searching through the shelves of the room, trying to be as quiet as possible.

Beryl just stood staring at Dean, arms straight down at her sides, her back rigid.

"Beryl, what is it?" Dean asked quietly.

"I'm so worried I'm going to fail," she whispered in a broken voice that left shards in Dean's heart.

"You're not gonna fail," Dean hissed. "Not on my watch."

She smiled a bit, and there was a bitter-sweetness to the smile.

"Here! I found some rope." Sam approached his brother with a handful of dusty ropes.

"Good." Dean took a rope from Sam, tearing his eyes from Beryl. He walked to George's side. "Help me tie him up, Sammy."

The brother's flanked the demon-worshipper, ropes in hand.

George moved much faster than Dean thought he could. And he was jumping at Sam.

"Hey!" Dean yelled, rushing forward. He grabbed the smaller man by the shoulder and yanked him backward.

To Dean's surprise, his enemy laughed. "So predictable," George chuckled, spinning in Dean's grasp. He brought his knee up, then lashed out with his foot, catching Dean in the solar plexus and sending him flying back against the wall. Pain blasted through Dean's body, and white spots danced in his vision.

"Dean!" Sam cried.

"Put that bastard _down_!" Dean hollered hoarsely, coddling his gut and sliding down to his knees.

Sam slammed George to the ground with a satisfying thud and yanked the older man's arms behind his back.

Dean attempted a dry chuckle, which turned into a hacking, painful cough.

"Dean?" Sam's head snapped up, eyes fixing on his brother.

"Just… tie him up," Dean gasped out. "I'm fine."

Sam proceeded to tie George's wrists and forearms tightly together, but he kept worried eyes on Dean.

Dean concentrated on getting his breaths to come easy, slow, steady. He didn't want to worry Sam, didn't want to throw a wrench in things… _Although… throwing a wrench at George--_

"He heard us," came Beryl's voice, faint and fearful and ever so ghostly.

The tremor in her tone yanked Dean's attention from his breathing and Sammy's worry. He glanced sharply at her. "What--what do you mean?" he asked, getting one of his feet under him while keeping one hand pressed against his throbbing torso. The warmth seemed to help.

"He heard me say you didn't need to take any hard hits to the body," Beryl explained. She was hugging herself and shimmering like heat on a summer road.

George laughed harshly.

Sam grabbed the back of the demon worshipper's head and ground George's face into the dirt.

"Good move, Sammy," Dean complimented, managing a smile. Holding his painful breath, he started to stand.

"Dean--" Beryl held out a pleading hand.

"I'm fine. Quit worrying." Clenching his teeth, Dean swayed to his feet, then flashed the female ghost a cocky smile. "See? I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, I'm sure." Dean's annoyance levels were rising. "You nag worse than Sam." He narrowed his eyes on the ghost. "What's gotten into you, Beryl? Somethin' bothering you?"

"_You _bother me," she snapped abruptly, her flickering morphing into a more solid state. "You're careless. You're going to get yourself killed one day."

"Oh yeah? Well _you're _one to talk," Dean muttered, looking away from her, looking toward the door, toward where the demons would come.

"Guys, we don't have time for this," Sam spoke up suddenly.

Dean looked quickly at his brother. "What is it?"

"They're just outside the door," Sam told his brother, keeping his voice steady in an attempt to mask the tension that was made apparent by his overly large eyes.

* * *

Sam quickly gagged George and shoved the trussed-up demon worshipper into a far corner of the room. His heart was thudding fast and hard in his chest as he made his way to Dean's side, casting an anxious glance toward the door. "Dean, you okay?"

Dean nodded, but he was breathing hard and gingerly holding a hand to his stomach. He jerked his head toward the door. "Think they know we're in here?" he panted, making an admirable attempt at keeping both volume and pain out of his voice.

Sam nodded quickly, hands on his hips. "I think so."

"Then what are they doing?" Dean wondered, his hoarse voice laced with frustration. "Just waiting?"

"Just waiting," Beryl confirmed quietly, drifting to the brothers' side. "Like they're standing outside a rabbit box."

"A rabbit box with a coupla rabbits trapped in it," Dean muttered darkly.

Sam lifted his chin. "They haven't met rabbits like us before," he declared.

"Well yeah," Dean replied with a slight grin. "Just look at you. You're like an enormous, mutated, Sasquatch breed of bunny." He glanced over his shoulder at Beryl, his grin going lopsided and flirty (which made Sam roll his eyes). "And just look at this cute little bunny here."

"Dean. Can we drop the rabbit analogy?" Sam asked impatiently. "You know what I mean."

Dean cleared his throat and affected an air of seriousness. "Yep. Sure do." Then he broke out into a grin. "We're _rabid _rabbits."

Sam flared his nostrils, working his jaw. "Dean--"

"I know man," Dean replied quickly, all seriousness for real this time. "So how are we gonna trap those demons in their own rabbit box?"


	9. Close Encounters with the Demon Kind

* * *

This chapter is dedicated to my beta, amyblair.

Enjoy!

Chapter Nine

Sam could not fight the frown that pulled at his face as he studied his brother. Dean was anything but the "okay" and "fine" he kept insisting he was. In fact, Sam was thinking his brother was on his way to another relapse. As they waited in their positions for their plan to go into action, the younger Winchester kept his eyes on the elder.

…and found the favor returned.

"Quite staring at me like that, Sammy," Dean hissed from across the wide expanse of the door. "You're making me nervous."

"Oh yeah?" Sam raised his eyebrows. "Well you're making _me _nervous. You haven't been breathing normally since our old pal George kicked you in the gut."

Dean shrugged, quickly dropping the hand that had been pressed to his stomach for the last ten minutes or so. "I appreciate your concern, Dr. Winchester, but I really don't need it."

Sam bit down a sarcastic retort, settling instead for just shaking his head and looking away from his stubborn brother. He silently prayed that Dean's stamina would last, that Dean wouldn't get himself hurt again, that Dean would follow the plan to the letter and not try to play the hero… _Ha! Fat chance on that last one…_

"How close are they, Beryl?"

Dean's sharp whisper drew Sam's attention, and the younger brother glanced over his shoulder at the glowing woman, who was standing in the center of the small room, standing between the gagged and bound George and the door.

She crossed her slim, ghostly arms, an impassive look on her face. "They're close," she told the brothers calmly.

Sam watched as her eyes flickered to Dean's, then slid quickly away, settling on the door.

The sound of sinister voices echoed in the hall just outside the small room. Sam swallowed hard, praying silently and a bit frantically, praying especially for his brother, for Dean… He glanced at the elder Winchester, noting the paleness of Dean's face, his ginger movements, the way his intense green eyes fixed on the door. Sam didn't know whether to smile or frown. His brother was being typically Dean--trying to stay strong, trying to be tough--probably all for Sam… and possibly also for the attractive, blue-glowing lady haunting the middle of the room.

"Here they come," Beryl whispered suddenly, sharply, stirring Sam from his reflections on Dean.

Sam gripped the flask of holy water tightly in his hand, so tightly his knuckles whitened. "I'm ready," he said quietly, steadily.

Dean acknowledged him with a nod, raising the canister of salt that he held.

Sam took a deep breath--

--and suddenly, the door flew opened.

The female demon burst in first--a tall, strong-looking woman whose hands were curled into claws and whose eyes were a shiny black. Those black eyes settled on Beryl first, not noticing the hunters flanking the opened door. A cruel smile curved the demon's pale, thin lips.

"So it's you who's helping them," the demon woman hissed. "I'm not surprised." She crossed her arms and sighed wearily, as if beset by many troubles. "I thought we'd dealt with you."

Beryl lifted her chin, doing an admirable job of not looking at the Winchesters, not drawing attention to them. "I'm not finished yet," she told the demon.

"Nosy. Always nosy." The demon woman glanced to the corner in which George was bound. She shook her head, sighing once again. "Always trouble." A frown touched the woman's harsh features. "I find it hard to believe that _you _exorcised Lysander…"

"I've learned lots of things since I've been dead," Beryl replied smoothly. "Exorcism is one of them."

"Did that hunter man teach you? What was his name? John?" The demon spun on Beryl with narrowed eyes.

"What's going on in here?" A second demon stalked into the room; this one was a man, stocky and rugged, hands balled into fists.

"It's the ghost-girl again." The female demon pointed languidly at Beryl. "She's such trouble."

"We should find her bones and burn them already," the male demon spat.

"Patience, Crispin." The female reached to brush a curly lock of brown hair from the male's black eyes. "I smell a rat."

Sam felt his body tense. He cast a quick glance at Dean.

Dean returned the look, lifting the container of salt a bit higher.

"I smell _two _rats." The female demon turned and looked right at Sam, then at Dean.

Sam felt adrenaline begin to pump through his veins. He took a step forward, and Dean did likewise.

"Actually, we're rabbits," Dean told the demon woman with a casual shrug. "But I guess you don't have biology classes in hell."

Sam smirked.

"What are you _talking _about?" the female demon snarled.

"He's Dean Winchester, Asherah," Crispin told the female demon, blinking his black eyes at the brothers. "Remember what we were told about him?" He fixed Dean with a droll smile. "He's always cracking jokes to hide how scared he is."

"I think you're the scared one, pal," Dean retorted. "'Cause you know we can change your name from Crispin to Crispy."

"Ooooh." Crispin shivered mockingly. "I'm sooooooo scared."

"Sam. I don't like this guy." Dean looked at his brother. "Let's get this over with."

Sam whipped the exorcism out of his pocket. He was starting to get used to this exorcism thing. Heck, he already had the words almost memorized. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth to begin reading the words of power.

"I'd wait a minute if I were you."

The voice from behind him startled him, made him jump. As he turned, he met his brother's eyes. Dean's were as large as he knew his probably were.

They had forgotten the third demon.

Sam could practically _feel _the power emanating from this one as he walked slowly and gracefully into the room. A cold shiver of dread traipsed up the young hunter's spine. This demon was going to be dangerous.

* * *

Dean did not like _this_ guy, either. He wasn't a big fan of demons in general, but this one… This one really gave him the creeps.

The new arrival, tall, dark, and handsome, made his way slowly to the center of the room, standing right in front of Beryl. He gave the ghost a once-over, then smiled slowly.

"Hello, Beryl."

"Baldwin." Beryl looked away from him, which surprised and bothered Dean. What did she know about this demon?

Baldwin turned and smiled amicably at the Winchester brothers. "I see you've made new friends. John's boys."

"What do you know about Dad?" Dean burst out before thinking.

Baldwin chuckled lightly. "I know quite a bit about your father. I know a little about you, as well, as does your good friend Beryl here." He glanced at Crispin and Asherah. "And these two goons, too."

Asherah hissed at him, cat-like, making a scratching motion with her hand.

"You'll find my cohorts are a bit… shall we say, uncivilized?" Baldwin ran a hand through his sleek black hair. "You'll find that _I _am nothing of the sort."

Something about Baldwin's claims rang a bell in Dean's mind… Something Lysander had said…

"So they're the ones who want to kill us, and you're the one who wants to recruit us for some reason," Sam spoke up.

Of course, Sam had figured it out.

"Put roughly, yes." Baldwin nodded. "So there's no need for lack of civility between us, Sam Winchester." He smiled brightly. "I'm your friend."

Dean swore. "You're a demon. You're not our friend."

Baldwin gave Dean a look of pained toleration. "I'm only _your _friend because of your brother, Dean Winchester."

Dean didn't like that one bit. Why the heck was this demon guy so adamant about being buddy-buddy with Sam? That was just… creepy. "You stay the hell away from my brother." The elder Winchester took a step toward the black-eyed man, heart-pounding, fingers clenching tightly around the canister of salt. "Sammy, start reading."

Sam, wide-eyed, perhaps bewildered, nodded quickly to his brother and once again lifted the crumpled paper.

Baldwin turned suddenly to Dean, narrowing his eyes on the young hunter. He lifted a hand and made a brief pushing motion.

Dean couldn't help releasing an exclamation of surprise and pain as he was flung backwards into the wall. Pain exploded inside his body, especially through his already battered ribs. He bit down a whimper as he slid to the floor against the wall, both arms wrapped around his body.

"Dean!" Sam cried, stepping toward him.

"I'd drop that little paper if I were you, Sammy." The sheer arrogance in Baldwin's voice was sickening.

Dean would have said something snarky if he wasn't so busy trying to breathe… Breathing was hurting… again. He glanced up at Sam with pain-filled eyes that begged his brother to ignore him and go on with the exorcism… _Fat chance… Crap._

Sam frowned, teeth clenched and dropped the paper. It fluttered to the ground a few inches from his left boot.

_So close… and yet so far… _Dean fixed his eyes on the paper, memorizing its location. Maybe, just maybe he could get to it…

"Both of you--back against that wall." Baldwin motioned toward the wall to Dean's left.

This was feeling very familiar. _Baldwin and Lysander must have been pals in demon-school…_

Sam was suddenly kneeling at Dean's side, alert and slightly panicked. "Dean? Dean? Are you okay?"

"Peachy," Dean bit out, bracing himself against the wall. The motion caused a ripple of pain through his body. He didn't catch the groan in time, and it escaped his lips in an embarrassingly high pitch.

"Dean?" Sam was a study in concern and brotherly love.

Dean smiled a bit. "We've got these guys, eh, Sammy?" he whispered. "Especially that smug son of a--"

"Get moving," the demon in question ordered impatiently.

"Don't do this," came Beryl's voice, trembling slightly--with anger or fear or distress or perhaps a combination thereof.

"Why not?" Baldwin shrugged and turned his attention back to the brothers.

"We can't take them with us," Crispin spoke up, his voice raspy with irritation.

"They're too valuable to simply destroy," Baldwin replied calmly. "At least, the younger one is."

"Hear that, Sammy? You're special." Dean managed a tight smile as Sam helped him to his knees. "Hey… Get between them and me," he whispered quickly.

Sam blinked, frowning, probably very surprised at his brother's request. When had Dean ever asked Sam to take the most dangerous position?

"Block their view." Dean looked steadily at his brother, silently begging for trust.

Sam got it. He nodded tightly. "All right." He shifted his grasp on Dean's arm, putting himself between his brother and the demons.

"We're _waiting_," Baldwin practically whined.

Dean hated that guy. So he smiled as he laid a salt line across the open doorway, his movements blocked by Sam from the demons' view. Sometimes, it paid having a brother the size of a Sasquatch.

The brothers exchanged quick, slightly anxious smiles, then Sam began the task of getting Dean to his feet.

"I can do this, Sammy," Dean muttered testily, trying not to lean so much on Sam trying not to breathe quite so raggedly.

"Shut up," Sam murmured in reply, practically hauling Dean off the ground.

Dean shot a glare at the younger hunter, then turned to face the demons, who were watching him with dangerous and wrath-filled black eyes. "So… You're putting us on the auction block are you?"

* * *

"Yeah, Baldwin, are you putting them on the auction block?" Asherah spoke up acidly, crossing her arms and glaring at the tall, dark demon.

Baldwin sighed dramatically and ran a hand through his perfect hair. "That _was _Lysander's original plan, wasn't it?"

"Lysander's gone," Crispin spat. "We aren't beholden to him anymore." He shot a venomous look at the Winchesters. "I say we fry these troublemakers and get outta here. This was a sorry plan from the beginning. We didn't count on them to be so well trained, and we didn't count on _her_--" he nodded at Beryl-- "to stick around for so long."

Sam's curiosity was reaching its breaking point. "Who is she, anyway?" he asked impulsively. All three demons and Beryl turned their eyes on him. He barely resisted the urge to flinch. "Well?"

Baldwin strode to Beryl's side and lifted a strand of her glowing, blue-blonde hair. "You mean, she hasn't told you the entire story?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't think so."

"A few years ago, this lovely young lady began to discover her psychic powers." Baldwin circled the ghost girl as he talked, reaching out at various intervals to stroke her skin or hair. "And she decided to be a hero, to use them for good. Poor girl. She didn't count on _us_, did she?" He smiled wickedly. "She followed her inner nose to this old mine, where we were conducting various experiments--torture, dark arts, different types of possession and control--and she thought she'd try to stop us. She was wrong. And so she died." A cruel grin bowed the demon's lips. "By my hand."

"You slimeball," Dean muttered darkly.

"I am, aren't I?" Baldwin replied with an even wider smile. "Lysander and I were the best of the slimeballs, until you decided to finish him." The smile melted into a sneer. "He was like a brother to me." For a moment, he silently glared at the Winchesters, then he shook himself, clapping his hands together before him. "Well. Shall we decide what to do with these hunters?"

"We've already decided," Asherah growled. "We kill them, strike them down. They're of no use to us."

"You're dead wrong," Baldwin countered. He nodded toward Sam. "Don't you know who this one is?"

Dread settled in Sam's stomach, a fearful, tangible thing. Subconsciously, he moved closer to Dean.

"Easy, Sam." Dean's hand rested on Sam's shoulder. Sam found it ironic that his battered and wheezing brother was attempting to look after him--ironic and very Dean.

Crispin stepped menacingly toward Baldwin. "We know. And we don't care. They're too dangerous to us alive."

"You don't destroy a tool before getting the chance to use it!" Baldwin spat back.

A small spark of hope suddenly ignited in Sam as he watched the demons argue. Just behind it came a plan.

"Dean," he whispered.

"Yeah?" Dean replied, keeping almost comically wide eyes fixed on the arguing demons.

"I've got a plan."

"Huh." Dean smiled a bit, smiled crookedly. "I was getting worried there for a second that you'd lost your touch."

"Guess I haven't." Sam nodded toward the demons, who were snapping and snarling at each other, while Beryl shrank into the background behind them. "Baldwin's right. Why destroy a tool before getting the chance to use it?"

"What do you mean, Sammy?" Dean whispered.

"We can use _him,"_ Sam explained. "Pretend to be on his side and get them to fight each other." His sharp eyes darted around the little room. "While they're fighting, we can exorcise them." He honed in his vision on the scrap of paper containing the exorcism. It was so close…

"What are you two talking about!?" Asherah's voice suddenly snapped, echoing harshly through the cave.

Sam and Dean exchanged cautioning glances, then turned to face the demons.

Crispin stepped forward. "Move away from each other--now."

Sam hesitated.

Dean rebelled. "We were just talking about--"

"I'm so tired of this mouthy bastard." Crispin looked to Asherah. "Can I?"

Asherah crossed her arms, smirking at Baldwin. "Go ahead."

Crispin lifted a hand and faced Dean.

The dread settled in Sam's stomach suddenly rose chokingly into his throat. "No! Don't!"

Crispin barked a laugh, then made a flinging motion with his hand.

Sam and Beryl acted instantaneously. Sam flung himself at Dean, wrapping his arms around his brother and slamming him to the ground. Beryl shot toward Crispin, reaching out with a slender, clawed hand.

Dean grunted as his body hit the ground, and Sam worried that he'd further injured his brother, but he knew he'd saved Dean's life when a portion of the rock wall behind where Dean had been standing suddenly cracked with an ear-splitting noise. Dean struggled under his brother's weight, but Sam kept him down, glancing up quickly toward Crispin.

Beryl had one hand shoved into Crispin's body through his back. Her face was set in a stubborn look, eyes flashing, as she twisted her hand. The demon man screamed and threw his head back, instantly attracting the attention of the other two demons. Baldwin looked on gloatingly, while Asherah shrieked in rage.

"Let him go!" the female demon screamed.

"Fine." Beryl ripped her hand out of the man's back--and with it, began pulling out strands of black smoke--the demon's soul.

Asherah screamed wordlessly and launched herself at Beryl. Beryl spun to face her, releasing the curls of black, which sank back into Crispin's body. The stocky demon collapsed to the ground, unconscious or dead, Sam didn't know.

Sam watched with wide eyes as the two women--ghost and demon--faced each other down. His concentration was suddenly broken by a hand grabbing the back of his shirt and yanking him to his feet.

Baldwin.

"Sam, come with me," Baldwin ordered. "It's too dangerous for you here."

Sam set his jaw. "Not without Dean."

"Then bring him," Baldwin conceded impatiently.

* * *

Dean managed to stagger to his knees, leaning forward on shaky arms, fingers curling reflexively around a piece of paper on the ground, his head throbbing, vision just beginning to clear from the blurry shock of being knocked to the ground by a man of Sasquatchian proportions. The hunter's entire body felt like one big bruise, and an itching, clawing ache was squeezing his lungs and making it a chore to breathe. He tasted bitter metal in his mouth--blood, of course, probably from his lungs.

"Sammy?" he called, his voice emerging raspy and weak. "Sam?"

"Come on, Dean." A firm hand latched under his arm, drawing him gently upward.

"Good ol' Sammy," Dean muttered a bit blearily, tottering to his feet with the aid of his favorite tall person, automatically shoving the paper in his pocket. He turned to face his brother, blinking. "What just happened?" As his vision cleared, he noticed that Sam was frowning--and Baldwin was standing right behind the younger Winchester. "What the--?"

"Shh. Dean, we need to move quickly." Sam had a warning look on his face.

"Okay…" Dean immediately went into cautiously-go-along-with-your-brother-because-something's-going-on mode.

"Baldwin is going to take us to safety. We have to go with him."

Dean remembered the plan, then. "Okay." He nodded.

Sam frowned suddenly. "Dean, are you okay?"

"Fine as--fine as… frog's hair," Dean managed.

Sam rolled his eyes. "You used that simile totally wrong."

"Can we get moving?" Baldwin hissed, glaring murderously at Dean.

"Yeah. Let's go." Sam tugged on Dean's arm, and the brothers followed Baldwin toward the door of the room… where a salt line awaited them.

Dean wondered what they were going to do with that salt line, how it fit into their plan… And then he wondered about Beryl. Where was she? He turned and looked back toward the center of the room--and his eyes widened at what he saw.

Beryl and Asherah were circling each other, fingers curled into claws, eyes narrowed. They were going to fight.

"Sam?" Dean tugged on his brother's sleeve.

"I know," Sam whispered in reply.

Baldwin suddenly let fly an exclamation of anger and spun to face the brothers. "Remove this salt line--immediately!"

"Only if you agree to help us first," Sam retorted.

Baldwin narrowed his eyes on the younger Winchester. "What kind of game are you playing with me, Sam?"

"He's not the only player in this game," Dean spoke up, moving quickly--and naturally--between his brother and the demon, ignoring the stabbing pain in his torso caused by so quick a movement. He reached into his pocket, whipping out the scrap of paper he had picked up from the floor, suddenly--and blessedly--remembering what it was. "This little paper here says you do what we tell you."


	10. Burn to Breathe

I'm alive! Contrary to popular opinion, I have not yet been taken down by a supernatural creature of darkness. And so we come to the last chapter of my story... Wow, this has been fun! I have highly enjoyed my journey with the Winchesters--and consequently, my journey with you, my readers and reviewers. Said journey would not have been possible without you, or without amyblair, my amazing beta!

Chapter Ten

Dean watched with a feeling of satisfaction as Baldwin stiffened, obviously fighting to maintain control.

"And what are you telling me to do?" Baldwin asked. His mouth was tight with a forced sneer.

"Call off that creature." Dean pointed toward the female demon, who was still circling Beryl.

"She doesn't answer to me," Baldwin replied, his smooth demeanor only faltering slightly, only visible in the quick flash of fear in his eyes.

"I don't answer to him!" Asherah confirmed. With a shriek of rage, she launched herself at Beryl.

Dean had never been more afraid for a dead person. "Baldwin, you bastard! NOW!" he shouted gruffly, grabbing the front of the demon's flawless shirt and jerking the creature closer. When the demon made no response, only staring blankly, the young hunter lifted the paper in his hand, fixed his eyes on it, and started to read. He was not quite as easy with Latin as Sam. He was sure his words faltered a bit, but they were still words of power, he knew.

He knew this because Baldwin's face began to twist in agony.

He knew this because Asherah suddenly shrieked, and from the corner of his eye, he saw her leap back from Beryl, clapping her hands over her ears.

_Why stop now? _Dean continued to read, the Latin coming more easily to his tongue.

Baldwin jerked in Dean's grasp, stepping backward and yanking Dean forward.

Heat flared up across Dean's ribcage, and he coughed, the exorcism interrupted. Baldwin took advantage of the split-second lapse, grasping Dean's forearm and shoving it down, ripping his shirt from Dean's grasp. The hunter stumbled back, but was steadied by strong arms. One long arm reached around him, snatching the exorcism from his shaking fingers.

_Sam. Sammy. Good ol' Sammy. _Dean doubled over, arms wrapped tightly around his ribs, as Sam stepped up beside him and began reading in his young, strong voice.

Baldwin shrieked, jaw locking, teeth clenching. The demon was determined to stay inside the body it had stolen, but Sam kept reading. Baldwin collapsed to his knees, body bucking, grasping his own throat.

Doubled over, Dean lifted his head slightly to catch a glimpse of his brother's face. Sam was starting to smile smugly now, confidence in every word he read. "Keep goin', Sammy," Dean encouraged before bowing his head again. The room was spinning… _I hope that demon bastard is feeling the same…_

Then, without precedence, a female form launched itself across the room at Sam. Dean's head snapped up just in time to see Asherah flinging her arms outward at his younger brother, hands curled into claws. "No!" Dean shouted, straightening and quickly moving himself between his brother and the female demon. He braced himself for impact, arms held before him, feet firmly planted.

Asherah slammed into his arms full force. One of her clawed hands reached around his blockade to scratch at his face, but he jerked his head back just in time to avoid her sharp nails. The demon woman shrieked in rage, but could do little to fight him, weakened as she was by Sam's reading of the exorcism. Dean quickly grasped her wrists and spun her around, locking her arms against her chest. His eyes scanned the cave room quickly, frantically. _Where is Beryl?_

"Where's Beryl!?" Dean demanded, shaking the demon roughly.

Behind him, Sam's voice began to pronounce the last few sentences of the exorcism.

The demon woman laughed bitterly, her laughter joined by Baldwin's.

Dean swore. "Where's Beryl!?"

"You'll never find out if you exorcise me, hunter," Asherah panted, her body trembling convulsively against him as the exorcism worked its power on her.

And then Sam stopped reading.

Dean quickly spun to face his brother, still clutching Asherah in an arm lock against his chest. "Sam?"

Sam looked at his brother with wide, worried eyes, shoulders heaving as he hauled in ragged breaths. "Dean, what do we do?"

The Winchester brothers held each other's eyes, each unsure, each worried, each angry.

Dean shook Asherah violently. "Where's Beryl!?" he demanded a third time.

Baldwin laughed wickedly. "Foolish humans. Always so easily attached, so pitifully protective of what you deign to love."

And then, from seemingly nowhere and everywhere at once, there came a voice--feminine and strong--echoing through the cave. "Finish it! Finish it, Sam!"

"Beryl!" Dean cried raggedly, eyes darting around the cave. "Where are you!?"

"_Finish it_!" Beryl's voice commanded.

Dean looked to Sam, breathing heavily, his insides all twisted into knots. Sam was gazing up at the ceiling, jaw clenched. Dean knew that look--stubborn, Winchester determination. And Dean knew, deep down in some place within that always knew, that Beryl was right, that Sam needed to finish the incantation, that the exorcism had to go on; so when Sam looked at his brother, Dean gave him a steady nod.

Sam swallowed hard, then continued to speak the demon-ripping words.

* * *

Sam kept a wary eye on Baldwin, who cringed and moaned under the words of the exorcism. The words were coming to an end, and it looked as if they were going to work. Smoke began to seep from Baldwin's mouth, and the demon's black eyes widened with horror.

Sam glanced to where Dean was still manhandling Asherah. The female demon was screeching and scratching at Dean's arms, but the elder Winchester kept a strong grip on her. The look in his eyes bothered Sam, though. Dean almost looked… haunted…

Dean nodded to Sam again, working his jaw. "Finish it!" he ordered hoarsely.

And so Sam continued to read. A thrill of triumph ran through his veins as both Baldwin and Asherah collapsed to their knees, bodies swaying, smoke pouring from their mouths. Dean stepped back from Asherah, moving a bit unsteadily, his body heaving with shaky breaths. Sam spoke the rest of the exorcism mostly from memory, his eyes often darting toward Dean, watching worriedly as his elder brother sagged against the wall of the cave room.

Finally, the words were finished, and with a mighty screech, the black-smoke forms of the demons tore from their human hosts and vaporized through the ceiling of the cave. The man and woman, now empty of demon souls, collapsed to the cold, hard floor like clothing emptied of human bodies.

Sam drew a ragged, shaky breath and pocketed the exorcism paper with a trembling hand. He managed a weak smile as he turned to his brother. "So? What now, Dean?"

Dean grinned back, pressing a hand to his ribs. "Good--good work, Sammy." He closed his eyes for a moment, a wince tightening his features briefly. Then he was looking at Sam again, before Sam could think to worry any more than he was already worrying. "Think we should tie up these guys?" The elder brother nodded at the two still forms on the floor.

Sam laughed a bit at that. "If they're anything like George…"

Dean took a wobbly step forward, then. "Let's wake 'em up and find out." He moved toward the fallen host of Asherah and knelt beside her. But before he could awaken the woman, a voice echoed through the cave.

"Dean."

Dean's head snapped up, and Sam saw it again--the haunted look in his brother's bright green eyes. Dean's throat worked; he was swallowing down something. _Tears, maybe? _Sam wondered. Whatever it was, it was clear that Dean was unable to speak.

"Beryl?" Sam called, moving to stand closer to his brother. "Is that you?"

"Follow me," came the familiar voice of the benevolent ghost.

Sam frowned as he looked around the room. He saw no sign of Beryl. "Beryl? Where--?"

"There."

Sam looked down at his brother, followed the line of Dean's motioning hand. His eyes widened.

Slender, feminine footprints were appearing in the dust of the cave floor, moving steadily toward the door… and glowing faintly with a bluish light.

Sam blinked. "Do we--?"

"We follow," Dean told him firmly. He braced himself on his own knee and started to push himself up from his kneel.

Sam quickly reached down to hook an arm under his brother's, pulling the unsteady Dean to his feet. "You okay, man?"

"Maybe," Dean replied a bit gruffly. His eyes were fixed on the footprints, which had stopped at the door of the room. "Let's see where she's taking us." He moved from his brother's supportive hold, moved to follow the glowing prints.

Sam took a deep breath, eyes narrowed on his brother's back. His heart clenched with a sudden pang of sadness… He thought it might be sadness for Dean.

* * *

Dean had not forgotten his promise to Beryl… nor had he stopped regretting it. His heart beat hard and heavy in his chest as he followed the footprints to the door, then through the door and into the hallway of the cave. He could hear Sam following behind him and hoped that Sam had the good sense to pick up their pack on the way out. He figured Sam probably did. The kid was showing himself to be quite a useful hunter, thoughtful, sensible, a good partner. A good brother.

Dean's throat tightened as he thought of all he had been through with his brother. There was probably more to come. And he wouldn't have it any other way--would never choose anything but hunting with his brother, if given the choice. This was the life, right? As he followed the footsteps down the chilly passageway, he felt a twinge of doubt--not a doubt about traveling the road with Sam, but a doubt about hunting.

Beryl was not evil. Why did he have to burn her bones?

"Dean?" came Sam's questioning voice from behind.

"I think she's leading us somewhere," Dean called back, following the ghostly prints down a narrow slope.

"Obviously," Sam replied, his voice tinged with a bit of sarcasm. "But where?"

"To her bones." The words felt ripped from Dean's throat, ripped from his heart. "She wants us to burn them."

Sam was silent, then, and Dean was grateful for it. Sam was generally pretty good at that, good at reading and recognizing the times when there was a need for silence. And so the brothers silently followed the glowing footprints down into a dark, damp opening--another cave room, this one much bigger than the last few they had visited.

When Dean stopped walking, panting, his side aching, Sam stumbled into him from behind.

"Sorry, man." Sam patted Dean's arm. "I can't see at all in here."

Dean nodded. "It's pretty friggin' dark in here."

"And cold," Sam added with a sniff. "Do you think Beryl--?"

Sam's question was cut off by a sudden flash of blue light from the far left corner of the room. The light dimmed a bit after the flash, hovering over something in the corner.

"I think that's where we're supposed to go," Dean surmised quietly, raggedly. Something within him clenched painfully at the thought of what was to come. "Come on." He tapped Sam's elbow, then started toward the blue glow. "Beryl?"

The lovely ghost suddenly materialized in the midst of the glimmering blue. She hovered a few inches off the ground, hands clasped demurely before her, eyes downcast, blue-gold hair hanging down around her face. "Hello, Dean." Her voice was soft, with a bit of sorrow. She looked up and shook the hair from her eyes, meeting Dean's gaze. "You found me."

"Yeah." Dean's voice caught, and he swallowed.

"You remember your promise?" she asked gently.

Dean nodded. He did not trust himself to speak.

Beryl drifted to her right, looking away from the Winchesters. Her movement revealed what had been hidden behind her--a pile of delicate, feminine bones.

Dean felt faintly nauseated at the sight. Here was Beryl--at least, what had been Beryl--stripped to the bone and left to decay in a far corner of an abandoned mine.

"We beat them, Dean," Sam whispered, moving to stand closer to his brother, ready to provide support, Dean supposed. "The ones who did this to her. We sent them straight back to hell."

Dean sighed. His brother was right. Of course. And it did feel a bit better to have been a part of avenging Beryl's death.

"I'm sorry," Beryl spoke up softly, her luminous eyes fixing on Dean once again. She drifted close to him, reached out to him, then jerked her hand back. "I know you don't want to do this."

Dean clenched his jaw, lips pressed tightly together. _No, I _don't _want to do this… _

"It's all right, Beryl," Sam answered her quietly. "We made a promise. We know this is what you want."

Dean fought the urge to roll his eyes. _Why can't we protest, Sam? How about we back out on this one? _But he took a deep, shaky breath and nodded. "We'll do this for you, but--but…" He winced, pained inside. "God, I'll miss you."

"Dean…" Beryl floated even closer to him, her fingers reaching to brush his face.

Dean closed his eyes and leaned into her ghostly hand, relishing the feel of her soft--if frigid--hand against his skin.

The ghost girl was suddenly very close, her body brushing against his, embracing him. "I wish you would have met me when I was alive," she whispered in his ear, her voice throaty and soft and rife with longing. Her ghostly breath kissed his skin with a bittersweet tingle.

"Me, too." Dean moved to lean his head against hers, but she had already drifted out of his arms, turning her glowing back to him.

"Send me home," she whispered, arms wrapped around herself.

Dean reached into his pocket. The cold feel of his lighter against his fingers surprised him, almost making him jump.

"Can you do this?" Sam asked him quietly.

Dean turned to face his brother, smiling wryly at the concerned look in Sam's eyes. Concerned. _Good ol' Sammy. _"I can do this," he assured his brother.

Sam nodded, placing full confidence in Dean. "I'll be right here if… you know… If you need me."

_And I hope you always will be_, Dean thought, but he shrugged and said, "I got this." Then he turned to face Beryl's ghost and bones. "Sam, hand me the salt."

Sam fumbled through the pack and withdrew the box of salt, then placed it in his brother's hands, giving Dean a steady look, which Dean attempted to return.

"Good-bye, Beryl," Dean told her, his voice shaky. "And thank-you."

"No." She turned to look at him, and there was a fragile, lovely smile on her face. "I thank _you_."

"For what?" Dean asked, frowning.

"For one last adventure on Earth," she replied, her smile broadening. "Now send me on to my first adventure elsewhere."

Dean nodded and took a step forward, sprinkling the delicate bones with salt. His body ached, but his spirit ached more, bruised by heartache and good-byes. With a shaky hand, he lit the lighter, holding it over the bones for a few seconds. _I'll never see her again. She saved my life. I'll never see her again. She--_

"Thank-you, Dean," she whispered, her light, ghostly breath making the tiny flame dance.

He tossed the lighter down onto the bones, stepping back with a shaky, convulsive sigh as they caught fire. A strong, warm hand rested on his shoulder. Sam, of course.

"You've done the right thing, Dean," Sam reassured him.

"Yeah, and it sucks, doesn't it?" Dean retorted, violently swiping a tear from his eye. As soon as he had cleared his vision, he looked around frantically for Beryl. The blue glow was fading from the cave, and the ghostly woman was nowhere to be seen. "Where is she?"

"She's gone, Dean," Sam told him softly.

"Aw, man." Dean frantically rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"Come on." Sam shifted the pack on his shoulder. "Let's go. You need rest, and I need to bandage you up."

"Yeah, yeah." Dean felt cold inside, and numb. He took a deep, shuddery breath. "Let's go, Dr. Winchester." Sam turned and started toward the slope that led upward out of the room, and Dean followed behind him, head bowed, heart bowed.

As Dean was stepping onto the slope, he felt a cool, soothing touch on his back. He spun around, eyes widening at the sight of Beryl standing before him. She was not shimmering blue or floating off the ground. She was just… a pretty girl, just Beryl.

"Beryl." Dean stepped toward her, hands extended.

Beryl caught his hands in hers and squeezed them. Her face was lit up not with a ghostly light, but with an inner glow. "Dean."

"What--what's happening?" Dean wondered aloud. He glanced toward the smoldering pile of ashes that had been Beryl's remains, then looked back at the beautiful, whole young woman in front of him. "How are you--?"

"Shh." She reached to place a cool, slender finger against his lips. "I don't have much time." A grin lit up her eyes, made them sparkle. "It's very beautiful where I'm going. And very happy." The sparkle turned to a mischievous glint. "I _told _you so, Dean Winchester." She studied him closely. "You're so special, Dean."

The young hunter blinked, surprised. Wasn't Sam supposed to be the special one? "Well, thanks. That's--that's great, but--"

"I get to say one last good-bye," Beryl told him softly, her eyes fixing intently on his. It seemed she was staring deep down into him, assessing the hurt and the pain and the hope and the longing. "Dean, take care of yourself. And take care of Sam."

Dean glanced over his shoulder to where Sam was standing wide-eyed. The younger Winchester nodded to Beryl, and she nodded back. "And you take care of Dean, too," she admonished him.

Sam nodded, eyes huge. "I will."

"Dean." Beryl touched his face, her hand suddenly warm and solid and real.

"Yes?" Dean asked gruffly, reaching to wrap his arms around her. She felt nice against him, resting in the circle of his arms.

"Good-bye," she whispered. Then she leaned forward to press her lips to his in a soft kiss full of bittersweet desire.

Dean kissed her back hungrily, wishing for the impossible, craving for something that could never be. And then she was gone, her breath still warm on his lips, taking his own breath away from him and leaving him almost empty… Almost… He stood in the darkness of the cave, trying to breathe without her, wondering…

"Dean? Are you okay?"

Dean turned to look at his brother and managed a bemused smile. "Yeah," he answered roughly. He cleared his throat, resisting the urge to touch his lips, which were still warm from her breath, from her kiss. "I think so." He walked up the slope with his brother, thankful that Sam had the sense to switch on a flashlight. Dean himself was too shaken up, inside and out, to think of such things.

"She's gonna be okay, Dean," Sam told him quietly, his voice low and confident. "She'll be happy where she is."

Dean smiled, suddenly reassured, but still… but still missing her. "I think you're right." He glanced up at the ceiling of the cave and winked, hoping that she saw him, hoping that she knew. Then he turned to Sam, slapping a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Well whaddaya say we find our way outta here, Sammy? I'm sick of caves, and I could use an ibuprofen or two. And maybe a cheeseburger. Or two."

"Sounds like a plan," Sam replied with a crooked grin.

And so the Winchesters made their way out of the darkness and into the light of day, where it was easier to breathe.


End file.
